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STOKESLEY SECRET 


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OR, 


HOW THE PIG PAID THE KENT. 


BY THE AFTHOR OP 

‘ THE HEIR OF EEDOLYFFE,’ eto. 


NEW YORK : 

D. APPLETON & COMPANY, >> 

443 & 445 BROADWAY. 

1862. 


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THE STOKESLET SEOEET. 


A;- CHAPTER I. 

‘ How can a pig pay the rent 1 * 

The question seemed to have been long under 
consideration, to judge by the manner in which 
it came out of the pouting lips of that sturdy 
young five-year-old gentleman, David Merrifield, 
as he sat on a volume of the great Latin dic- 
tionary to raise him to a level with the tea-table. 

0 Long, however, as it had been considered, 
it was unheeded on account of one more inter- 
esting to the general public assembled round the 
table. 

‘ I say ! * hallooed out a tall lad of twelve, 
holding aloft a slice taken from the dish in the 
centre of the table, ‘ I say ! what do you call 
this, Mary ? ’ 

‘Bread and butter. Master Sam,’ replied 
rather pettishly the maid who had brought in 
the big black kettle. 


4 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


‘ Bread and butter ! I call it bread and 
scrape ! ’ solemnly said Sam. 

‘ It only has butter in the little holes of it, 
not at the top, Miss Fosbrook,’ said, in an odd 
pleading kind of tone, a stout good-humoured 
girl of thirteen, with face, hair, and all, a good 
deal like a nice comfortable apricot in a sunny 
place, or a good respectable Alderney cow. 

‘ I think it would be better not to grumble, 
Susan, my dear,’ replied, in a low voice, a pleas- 
ant dark-eyed young lady who was making tea ; 
but the boys at the bottom of the table neither 
heard nor heeded. 

‘ Mary, Mary, quite contrary,* was Sam’s 
cry, in so funny a voice, that Miss Fosbrook 
could only laugh ; ‘ is this bread and scrape 
the fare for a rising young family of genteel 
birth ? ’ 

‘ Oh ! ’ with a pathetic grimace, cried the 
pretty-faced though sandy-haired Henry, the 
next to him in age, ‘if our beloved parents 
knew how their poor deserted infants are 
treated — 

‘ A fine large infant you are, Hal ! ’ exclaimed 
Susan. 

‘ I’m an infant, you’re an infant. Miss Fos- 
brook is an infant — a baby.’ 

‘ For shame, Hal ! ’ cried the more civilized 
Sam, clenching his fiat. 

‘ No, no, Sam,’ interposed Miss Fosbrook, 
laughing, ‘ your brother is quite right ; I am as 
much an infant in the eye of the law as little 
George.’ 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 5 

‘ There, I said I would ! ’ cried Henry ; 
‘ didn’t I, Sam r 

‘ Didn’t you what ? ’ asked Susan, not in the 
most elegant English. 

‘ Why, Martin Greville twitted us with hav- 
ing a girl for a governess,* said Henry ; ‘ he said 
it was a shame we should he taken in to think 
her grown up, when she was not twenty ; and I 
said I would find out, and now I have done it ! ’ 
he cried triumphantly. 

‘ Everybody is quite welcome to know my 
age,’ said Miss Fosbrook, the colour rising in 
her cheek. ‘ I was nineteen on the last of 
April ; but I had rather you had asked me 
point blank, Henry, than tried to find out in a 
side-long way.* 

Henry looked a little surly ; and Elizabeth, 
a nice-looking girl, who sat next to him, and 
was nearest in age, said, ‘ Oh ! but that would 
have been so rude. Miss Fosbrook.’ 

‘ Kude, but honest,’ said Miss Fosbrook ; 
and Susan’s honest eyes twinkled, as much as to 
say, ‘ I like that ; ’ but she said, ‘ I don’t believe 
Hal meant it.* 

‘ I don’t care ! ’ said Sam. ‘ Come, Mary, 
this plate is done — more bread and butter ; d’ye 
hear ? not bread and gammon ; ’ and he began 
the chant, in which six voices joined till it be- 
came a roar, pursuing Mary down to the lower 
regions : — 


‘ Thick butter and thin bread, 

Or it shall be thrown at Mary’s head ; 


6 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


Thick bread and thin butter, 

Is only fit for the ducks in the gutter.’ 

Elizabetli looked appealingly at Miss Fos- 
brook ; but Miss Fosbrook was leaning back in 
her chair, her handkerchief up to her mouth, in 
fits of laughing, seeing which, the children 
bawled louder and louder ; and Elizabeth only 
abstained from stopping her ears, because she 
knew that was the sure way to be held fast, and 
have it bellowed into them. 

Little Annie blundered in her eagerness upon 

‘ Thick bread and thin butter,’ 

whereupon there was a general outcry. ‘ Nanny 
likes thick bread and thin butter, let her have 
it ; ’ and Sam, Henry, and Johnny directed a 
whole battery of their remaining crusts towards 
her cup, which would presently have been upset 
into her lap, but for Miss Fosbrook, who re- 
covered herself, and said gravely, ‘ This must not 
be, Sam ; I shall send you away from the table 
if you do.’ 

Sam wanted to see whether she would, and 
threw the crust 

‘ Sam,’ she said very decidedly, though there 
was a quiver in her voice, as if she were fright- 
ened. 

Sam looked up, and did not move. 

‘ Oh, Miss Fosbrook !’ cried Susan, ‘we were 
all just as bad. Don’t punish Sam ! ’ 

‘ It is time that Sam should show that he has 
the feelings of a manly boy,’ said Miss Fosbrook, 
looking full at him. ‘ He knows that I must 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 7 

keep my word, and that I have no strength to 
fight with him. Sam, go and finish your tea on 
the window-seat.* 

Her clear brown eyes looked full at him as 
she spoke, and all the young population watched 
to see what he would do. He hesitated a mo- 
ment, then took up his cup and plate, and sat 
down in the window-seat. 

Miss Fosbrook breathed freely, and she had 
almost said, ‘ Thank you, Sam,’ but she did not 
think this was the time; and collecting herself, 
she said, ‘ Fun is all very well, and I hope we 
shall have plenty, but we ought not to let 
it grow riotous ; and I don’t think it was of a 
good sort when it was complaining of the food 
provided for us.’ 

The children were all rather subdued by 
what she said ; some felt a little cross, and some 
rather ashamed ; and when Mary brought back 
the dish replenished with slices, no one said a 
w’ord as to whether the butter were thick or thin. 
The silence seemed to David a favourable occa- 
sion for renewing the great question, ‘ How does 
a pig pay the rent ? ’ 

There was a general giggle, and again Miss 
Fosbrook was as bad as any ; while David, look- 
ing affronted, tapped the table with the handle 
of his spoon, and repeated, ‘ I want to know.’ 

‘ I’ll tell you, Davy man,’ began Henry, first 
recovering. ‘ The pig is a very sagacious ani- 
mal, especially in Hampshire, and so he smells 
out wherever the bags of money are sown under- 
ground, and digs them up with his nose. Then 


8 


THE STOKESLEY SECKET. 


he swings them on his back, and gives a curl of 
his tail, and a wink of his eye, and lays them 
down just before the landlord’s feet ; and he’s so 
cunning, that not an inch will he budge till he’s 
got the receipt, with a stamp upon it, on his 
snout.’ 

‘ No ; now is that a true story ? ’ cried little 
Annie, who was the only person except David 
grave enough to speak ; while Sam, exploding in 
the window, called out, ‘ Why, don’t you know 
that’s why pigs have rings in their noses ? ’ 

‘ “ There was a lady loved a swine ; 

‘ Honey,’ says she, 

‘ m give you a silver trough,’ 

* Hunks,’ says he,” ’ 

continued Hal ; ‘ that shows his disinterestedness. 
O werry sagacious hanimals is pigs ! ’ 

‘ For-shame, Hal,’ cried Elizabeth, ‘to con- 
fuse the children with such nonsense.’ 

‘ Why, don’t you think I know how the rent 
is paid ? I’ve seen papa on rent day hundreds 
of times.’ 

‘ But the pigs, Hal ; did you ever see the 
pigs?’ 

‘ Thousands of times.’ 

‘ Bringing bags of gold ? 0, Hal ! Hal ! ’ 

‘ I want to know,’ continued David, who had 
been digesting the startling fact, ‘how the pig 
swings the bag on his back. I don’t think ours 
could do it.’ 

‘ It’s a sort made on purpose,’ said Hal. 

‘ Made on purpose by Mr. Henry Merrifield,’ 




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U A. 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


9 


said Susan, at last able to speak. ‘ Don’t believe 
one word, David dear ; Hal is laughing at 
you.’ 

‘ But how does a pig do it ? ’ asked David, 
returning to the charge. 

‘ Why do you want to know, my dear,’ asked 
Miss Fosbrook ? 

‘ Mary’s sister said so.’ 

‘ I know,’ exclaimed Susan ; ‘ Davy went out 
with the nursery children to-day, and they went 
to see Mary’s sister. Her husband is drowned 
because he was a sailor ; and the Mermaid went 
to South America ; and there are five little tiny 
children.’ 

^ Of the mermaid’s ? ’ cried Harry. 

‘No, no ; the Mermaid was the ship, and it 
was wrecked, and they have nothing to live 
upon ; and she takes in washing, and is such a 
nice woman. Mamma said we might take them 
our old winter frocks, and so David went there.’ 

‘ And she said if she had a pig to pay the 
rent, she should be quite happy,’ said David. 
‘ How could he ? ’ 

‘I suppose,’ said Miss Fosbrook, ‘the pig 
would live on her garden stuff, her cabbage- 
leaves and potato-skins ; and that when he was 
fat she would sell him, and pay the rent with the 
money. Am I right, Sam ? you know I am a 
cockney.’ 

‘ You could not be more right if you were a 
Hampshire hog,’ said Sam. ‘ Jack Higgins was 
her husband’s name, and a famous fellow he was ; 
he once rigged a little boat for me.’ 


10 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


‘ And he sailed with papa once, long ago,’ 
added Susan ; to which Sam rejoined, 

‘ More fool he to go into the merchant service 
and get drowned, with nothing for his widow to 
live upon.’ 

‘ I say,’ cried Hal, ‘ why shouldn’t we give 
her a pig ? ’ 

‘ Oh, do ! * earnestly exclaimed David. 

‘ I’ll catch one,’ broke from John and Anne at 
once, ‘ such lots as there are in the yard ! ’ 

‘ You would catch it, I believe,’ said Sam, 
disdainfully ; while Susan explained, 

‘ No ; those are papa’s pigs. Pur day would 
not let you give them away.’ 

‘ Of course,’ said Henry, ‘ that was only 
those little geese. I meant to make a subscrip- 
tion among ourselves, and give her the pig ; and 
won’t she be surprised ? ’ 

‘ Oh ! yes, yes,’ shouted the children, ‘ let’s do 
it all ourselves ! ’ 

‘ I’ve got one-and-threepence, and sixpence 
next Saturday,’ cried Hal. 

‘ And I’ve eightpence,’ quoth Anne. 

‘ And I’ve a whole shilling,’ said David. 

‘ I’ve fourpence,’ said Johnnie. 

‘ I’ve not much, I’m afraid,’ said Susan, feel- 
ing in her pocket with rather black looks. 

‘ Oh ! ’ said Sam, ‘ everybody knows simple 
Sukey never has a farthing in her pocket by any 
chance ! ’ 

‘ Yes, but I have, Sam,’ and with an air of 
great triumph, Susan held up three halfpence, 
whereat all the party screamed with laughter. 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


11 


‘ Well, but Bessie always has lots ! She’s as 
rich as a little Jew. Come, Bet, Elizabeth, El- 
speth, Betsey, and Bess, what will you give? 
what have you got ? ’ and one hand came on her 
shoulder, and another on her arm, but she shook 
herself free, and answered rather crossly, 

‘ Don’t — I can’t — ^I’ve got something else to 
do with my money.’ 

‘ Oh ! you little stingy avaricious crab,* was 
the outcry beginning, but Miss Fosbrook stopped 
it before Elizabeth had time to make the angry 
answer that was rising on her lips. 

‘No, my dears, you must not teaze her. 
Each of you has a full right to use your own 
money as you may think best ; and it is not 
right to force gifts in this manner.’ 

‘ She’s a little affected pussy-cat,’ said Hal, 
much annoyed ; ‘ I know what she wants it for 
— to buy herself a ridiculous parasol like Ida 
Greville, when she would see poor Hannah 
Higgins starving at her feet.’ 

Elizabeth bit her lip, and tossed up her 
head ; the tears were in her eyes, but she made 
no answer. 

‘ Come, never mind,’ said Sam j ‘ she’s as 
obstinate as a mule, when she gets a thing into 
her head. Let’s see what we’ve got without 
her. I’ve only seven-pence ; worse luck that I 
bought a ball of string yesterday.’ 

The addition amounted to three shillings and 
eleven-pence halfpenny, a sum which looked so 
mighty when spread out, chiefly in coppers, on 
the window-seat, that Annie and David looked 


12 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


on it as capable of buying any amount of swine; 
but Sam looked rather blank at it, and gazing 
up and down, said, ‘ But what does a pig cost 1 ’ 
‘ Miss Fosbrook, what does a pig cost ? ’ 
Miss Fosbrook shook her head and laughed, 
saying that she knew much less of pigs than 
they did ; and Susan exclaiming, ^ There’s Pur- 
day in the court,’ they all tumbled to the win- 
dow, one upon the top of the other. 

The window was a large heavily-framed 
sash, with a deep window-seat, and a narrow 
ledge within the sill, as if made on purpose, the 
first for the knees, the second for the elbows of 
the gazers therefrom. 

As to the view, it was into a walled kitchen 
court, some high chestnut and lime trees just 
looking over the grey roofs of the offices. On 
the ground lay a big black Newfoundland dog, 
and a couple of graceful greyhounds, one of 
them gnawing a bone, cunningly watched by a 
keen-looking raven, with his head on one side ; 
while peeping out from the bars of the bottle- 
rack, was the demure face of the sandy cat, on 
the watch for either bones or sparrows. 

A stout, stumpy, shrewd-looking labourer, in 
a short round frock, high buskins, an old wide- 
awake, short curly hair, and a very large nose, 
stood in front of the dairy door, mixing a mess 
of warm milk for the young calves. 

^ Purday ! Master Purday ! ’ roared nearly 
the whole young population above-; but he was so 
intent on his mixture, that he went on as if he 
were deaf, till a second explosion of ‘ Purday ! 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


13 


Purday ! I say ! ’ made him turn up his face in 
an odd half-awake kind of manner. 

‘ Purday, what’s the price of a pig ? ’ and, 
* What does a pig cost, Purday ? ’ 

‘ What d’ye all holler at once for.? A body 
can’t hear a word,’ was all the answer they got ; 
whereupon they all started together again, and 
Purday went on with his mixture as if they had 
been so many hens cackling. 

Then Sam got up his breath again and called 
alone, * Purday ! ’ and Hal and Susan by pats 
and pinches strangled the like outcry from 
Annie and John, so as to leave the field clear 
for the great question, ‘ Purday, what does a pig 
cost ? ’ 

‘ More than your voices up there. Sir,’ 
growled Purday, making some laugh ; but 
Henry cried impatiently, 

‘ Now, Purday, we really do want to know 
what is the price of pigs ? ’ 

‘ They was high last market,’ began Purday. 
‘ I don’t care if they were high or low,’ said 
Hal ; ‘ I want to know what money they cost.’ 

‘ Different pigs cost different prices,’ quoth 
the oracle so sententiously, that Miss Pos- 
brook’s shoulders shook with laughing, as she 
stoo^ a little in the background of the eager 
heap in the window. 

‘ A nice little pig, such as you’d give — ’ 

‘ Hush, hush, Hal, it’s a secret,’ cried Susan, 

‘ A pretty sort of secret — known to eight 
already, and bawled out all over the yard,’ said 
Sam. 


14 


THE STOKESLET SECRET. 


‘ But don’t tell him what it’s for j you can 
ask him without that.’ 

‘ A nice little young pig,’ said Sam, ‘ such as 
you’d keep all the summer, and fat in the 
winter.’ 

‘ Mind, it ain’t for you, Purday,’ cried Hal. 

‘ Never fear my being disappointed. Sir,’ 
said the free-spoken Purday, with a twinkle of 
his eye, which Hal understood so well, that he 
burst out, 

‘ Ah ! you think I can never do what I say I 
will ; but you’ll see Purday, if we don’t give a 
pig to — ’ 

He was screamed at, and pulled into order 
and silence, ere the words ‘ Hannah Higgins ’ 
had quite come outj and Sam repeated his 
question. 

‘Well,’ said Purday at last, ‘if pigs was 
reasonable, you might get a nice little one to 
fat, at Kattern Hill fair, somewhere about ten 
shillings, or maybe twelve — sometimes more, 
sometimes less.’ 

‘ Ten shillings J ’ The community stood 
round and looked at one another at the notion 
of such an awful sum ; but Hal was the first to 
cast a ray of hope on the gloom. ‘ Kattern 
Hill fair ain’t till midsummer, and pe^aps 
grandmamma will send us some money* before 
that. If anybody’s birthday was but coming ! ’ 

‘Better save it out of our allowance,’ said 
Sam. ‘ How long is it to the fair 1 ’ 

Miss Fosbrook’s pocket-book declared it to 
be four weeks. . 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


15 


‘ W ell, then,’ said Hal, ‘ we three big ones 
have sixpence a week each, that’s six shillings, 
leaving out stingy Bess, and the little ones 
threepence, that’s three times three is nine, and 
three times nine is thirty-six, that’s three shil- 
lings, and# six is nine, and very near four 'is 
fourteen. We shall do the pig yet.’ 

‘ Yes, Hal ; but if pigs are reasonable, I am 
afraid three times nine never yet were so much 
so as to make thirty-six,’ objected Miss Fos- 
brook. 

Sam whistled. 

‘ Twenty-seven — that’s three and two pence 
— it’s all the same,’ said Hal ; then at the scream 
of the rest, ‘ at least two and threepence ; well, 
anyway there’s plenty for piggy-wiggy, and it 
shall be a jolly secret to delight Hannah Hig- 
gins, and surprise papa and mamma : hurrah 1 ’ 

‘ Yes,’ said Sam ; ‘ but then nobody must 
have any fines.’ 

‘ Ay, and Sue must keep her money. That 
will be a wonder ! ’ shouted Harry. 

^ Well, ril try,’ said Susan. ‘ I’ll try not to 
have a single fine, and I’ll not buy a single lump 
of sugar-candy, for I do want poor Hannah to 
have her pig.’ 

‘ And so wdll we,’_ cried the younger ones 
with one voice. 

‘ Only,’ added Susan, ‘ I must buy Dicky’s 
canary-seed.’ 

‘ And I must have a queen’s head to write 
to mamma,’ said Annie. 

‘Oh!*, never mind that, such trumpery as 


16 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


your letters are,’ said Hal. ‘ Mamma could say 
them by heart before she gets them. What 
does she care for them ? ’ 

Little Annie looked very deplorable. 

* Never mind, my dear,’ said Miss Fos- 
brook, ‘mammas always care for little girls’ 
letters, and you are quite right to keep a penny 
for your stamp for her. You see, Hal, this 
scheme will never come to good, if you sacrifice 
other duties to it.’ 

Henry twirled round impatiently. 

‘ Now, suppose,’ said Miss Fosbrook, ‘ that 
we set up a treasury, and put in all that we can 
properly afford, and then break it open on the 
day before the fair, and see how much we have.’ 

‘ Oh 1 yes, yes ! ’ cried the children in rap- 
tures. 

‘ Will you help. Miss Fosbrook 1 ’ said 
Susan, clasping her hands. 

‘ I should like to do a very little, if you will 
take this silver threepenny ; but I do not think 
it would be right for me to spare one penny 
more, for all I can afford is very much wanted 
at home.’ 

‘ What shall we have for treasury % ’ said 
Hal, looking round. 

‘ I know ! ’ cried Susan. ‘ Here in the baby- 
house ; here’s the Toby, let’s put it inside him.’ 

The so-called baby-house was an old-fash- 
ioned cupboard, with glass doors, where certain 
tender dolls and other curiosities, playthings too 
frail to be played with, and the like, were ranged 
in good order and never taken out except when 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 17 

some one child was unwell and had to stay in- 
doors alone. 

Toby Fillpot was a present from Nurse 
Freeman. It was a large mug representing a 
man with a red coat, black hat, and white waist- 
coat, very short legs, and top boots. The open- 
ing of the cup was at the top of his head, and into 
this was dropped all the shillings and pence at 
present mustered, and computed to be about 
four shillings. 

‘ And Miss Fosbrook, you’ll not be cross 
about fines ? ’ said Johnnie, looking coaxingly. 

‘ I hope I shall not be cross,’ she answered, 
‘ but I do not engage to let you off any. I think 
having so good a use to put your money to, 
should make you more careful against forfeit- 
ing it.’ 

‘ Yes,’ said Johnnie disconsolately. 

‘Well, I never get fines!’ cried Hal, joy- 
fully. 

‘ Except for running up-stairs in dirty shoes,’ 
said Sam. 

‘ Oh ! there’s no dirt now.’ 

‘ Let me see, what are the fines ? ’ said Miss 
Fosbrook. 

‘ Here’s the list,’ said Susan ; and sighing, 
she said, ‘ I’m afraid I shall never do it ! If 
Bessie only would help.’ 

The fines of the Stokesley school-room were 
these for delinquencies — each value a farthing — 

For being dressed later than eight o’clock. 

For hair not properly brushed. 


18 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


For coming to lessons later than five min- 
utes after ten. 

For dirty hands. 

For being turned back twice with any lesson. 

For elbows on the table. 

For foolish crying. 

For unnecessary words in lesson-time. 

For running up-stairs in wet shoes. 

For leaving things about. 

Each of these bits of misbehavior caused the 
forfeit of a farthing out of the weekly allowance. 
Susan looked very gloomy over them ; but Hal 
exclaimed, ‘ Never mind, Susie ; we’ll do it all 
without you, never fear ! ’ 

‘ And now,’ said Sam, ‘ I vote we have some 
fun in the garden.’ 

Some readers may be disposed to doubt 
after this specimen whether the young Merri- 
fields could be really young ladies and gentle- 
men ; but indeed their birth might make them 
so; for there had been Squire Merrifields at 
Stokesley as long as Stokesley had been a par- 
ish, and those qualities of honor and good breed- 
ing that mark the gentleman had not been want- 
ing to the elder members of the family. The 
father of these children was a captain in the 
navy, and till within the last six years, the chil- 
dren had lived near Plymouth ; but when he 
inherited the estate they came thither, and David 
and the two little ones had been born at Stokes- 
ley. The property was not large ; and as Cap- 
tain Merrifield was far from rich, it took much 
management to give all this tribe of boys and 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


19 


girls a good education as well as plenty of bread 
and butter, mutton; and apple-pudding. There 
was very little money left to be spent upon or- 
nament or upon pleasuring, so they were brought 
up to the most homely dress suited to their sta- 
tion, and were left entirely to the country enjoy- 
ments that spring up of themselves. Company 
was seldom seen, for papa and mamma had lit- 
tle time or means for visiting; and a few morn- 
ing calls and a little dining out was all they did, 
which tended to make the young ones more shy 
and homely, more free and rude, more inclined 
to love their own ways and despise those of 
other pe(^le, than if they had seen more of the 
world. They were a happy, healthy set of chil- 
dren, not faulty in essentials, but it must be 
confessed, a little wild, rough, and uncivil, in 
spite of the code of fines. 


CHAPTER II. 

Mrs. Merrifield had taught her children 
herself, till Samuel and Henry began going to 
the curate for a couple of hours every day to 
be prepared for school. Lessons were always 
rather a scramble ; so many people coming to 
speak to her, and so many interruptions from 
the nursery; and then came a time when 
mamma always was tired, and papa used to 
come out and scold if the noises grew very loud 


20 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


indeed, and was vexed if the children gave 
mamma any trouble of any kind. Next they 
were told they were to have a governess — a sort 
of piece of finery which the little savages had 
always despised — and thereupon came Miss 
Fosbrook ; but before she had been a week in 
the house, mamma was quite ill and in her bed- 
room, and papa looked graver than he had ever 
done before; and Mr. Braddon, the doctor, 
came very often : and at last Susan was called 
into mamma’s room, and it was explained to 
her that mamma was thought so ill, that she 
must go to be under a London doctor, and 
would be away, she cou^d not tell how long ; so 
that meantime, the children must all be left to 
Miss Fosbrook, with many, many injunctions to 
be good and obedient, for hearing that they were 
going on well, would be poor mamma’s only 
comfort. 

It was three days since Captain and Mrs. 
Merrifield had gone, and Miss Fosbrook stood 
at the window, gazing at the bright young green 
of the horse-chestnut trees, and thinking many 
various thoughts in the lull that the children had 
left when they rushed out of doors. 

She thought herself quite alone, and stood 
sometimes smiling over the odd ways of her 
charges, and at what they put her in mind of, 
sometimes gravely thinking whether she had 
said or done the wisest things for them, or what 
their mother would have most approved. She 
was just going to move away from the window, 
when she saw a little figure curled up on ,the 


THE ' STOKESLEY SECRET. 


21 


floor, with her head on the window-seat. ‘ Bes- 
sie, my dear, what are you doing here ? Why 
are not you gone out ? ’ 

‘ I don’t want to go out.’ 

‘ I thought they were to have a great game 
at whoop-hide.’ 

‘ I don’t like whoop hide. Johnnie pulls the 
clothes off my hack.’ 

* My dear, I hope you are not staying in be- 
cause they called you those foolish names. It 
was all in good humour.’ 

‘ It was not kind,’ said Elizabeth, her throat 
swelling. ‘ It was not true.’ 

‘ Perhaps not ; but you did not speak to 
give your reasons ; atid who could tell how 
good they might be 1 ’ 

‘ I’ve a right to my secrets as well as they 
have,’ said the little maiden. 

Miss Fosbrook looked kindly at her, and 
she turned wistful eyes on the young governess. 

‘ Miss Fosbrook, will you keep a secret ? ’ 

‘ That I will.’ 

‘ I want my money to buy some card-board 
— and some ribbon — and some real true paints. 
I’ve got some vermilion, but I want some real 
good blue. And then I want to make some 
beautiful bands with ties — like what papa has 
for his letters — for all mamma’s letters in her 
desk. There’s a bundle of papa’s when he was 
gone out to the Crimean war, and that’s to have 
a frigate on it, because of the Calliope, his ship, 
you know — and there’s one bundle of dear Aunt 
Sarah’s — that’s to have a rose, because I always 


22 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


think hei* memory is like the rose in my hymn, 
you know — and grandmamma, she’s to have — 

I think perhaps I could copy a bit of the tower 
of W estminster Abbey out of the print, because 
one sees it out of her window ; and, oh ! I 
thought of so many more, but you see I can’t 
do it without a real good paint-box, and that 
costs three and sixpence. Now, Miss Fosbrook, 
is it stingy to wish to do that ? ’ 

‘ Not at all, my dear ; but you could not ex* 
pect the others to understand what they never 
were told.’ 

‘ I’d have said something if they had not 
called me stingy,’ said Bessie. 

‘ It certainly was rude and hasty ; but if we 
bear such things good-naturedly, they become 
better; and they were very eager about their 
own plan.’ 

‘ Such a disagreeable thing as a pig ! ’ con- 
'' tinned Bessie. ‘ If it had been anything nice, I 
should not have minded so much.’ 

‘Yes; but, my dear, you must remember 
that the pig will be a more useful present than 
even yonr pretty contrivances. You cannot call 
them doing good, as the other will be.’ 

‘ Then you are like them ! You think I 
ought to spend all my money on a great horrid 
pig, when mamma — ’ and the tears were in the 
little girl’s eyes. 

‘ No, indeed, my dear. I don’t think any- 
one is called on to give their all, and it is very 
nice and quite right for a little girl to try to 
make a pretty present to please her mamma. 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


23 


There is plenty of time before you, and I think 
you will manage to have some share in the very 
kind action your brothers and sisters are con- 
triving.’ 

Elizabeth had not forgiven, as she should 
have done, the being called stingy ; it rankled 
on her feelings far more than those who said the 
word understood; and she presently went on^ 
* if they knew ever so much, they would only 
laugh at me, and call it all Bessie’s nonsense. 
Miss Fosbrook, please, what is affectation ? ’ 

I * I believe it is pretending to seem what we 
i are not by nature,’ said Miss Fosbrook ; ‘ put- 
1 ting on manners or feelings that do not come to 
us of themselves.’ 

‘Then I shall tell them they make me af- 
fected,’ exclaimed she, ‘If I like to be quiet 
and do things prettily, they teaze me for being 
affected, and I’m forced to be as plain and blunt 
as they are, and I don’t like it 1 I wish I was 
grown up ! I wish I was Ida Greville ! ’ 

‘ And why, my dear ? ’ 

‘ Because then things might be pretty,’ said 
, Elizabeth. ’‘Everything is so plain and ugly, 
I and one gets so tired of it I Is it silly to like 
things to be pretty ? ’* 

f ‘ No, far from it ; that is if we do not sacri- 
‘ fice better things to prettiness.’ 

Elizabeth looked up with a light in her dark 
eyes, and said, ‘ Miss Fosbrook, I like you ! ’ 
j Miss Fosbrook was very much pleased, and 
i kissed her. 

( She paused a moment, and then said, ‘ Miss 


24 


THE STOKESLEY SECKET. 


Fosbrook, may I ask one question ? What is 
your name ? Mamma said it must be Charlotte, 
because you signed your letter Ch. A. Fos- 
brook, but your little sister’s letter that you 
showed us began, My dear Bell. If it is a se- 
cret, indeed I will keep it.’ 

‘ It is no secret at all,’ said Miss Fosbrook, 
laughing. ‘ My name is Christabel Angela.’ 

Elizabeth opened her eyes, and said it by 
syllables. ‘ Christabel Angela ! that’s a prettier 
name than Ida. Does it make you very glad to 
have it ? ’ 

‘ I like it for some reasons,’ said Miss Fos- 
brook, smiling. 

‘ Oh, tell me ! ’ cried Bessie. ‘ Mamma al- 
ways says we should not be a bit happier if our 
names were pretty ones ; but I don’t know, I 
feel ^as if one would ; only the others like to 
make things plainer and uglier than they are.’ 

‘ I never could call your name ugly ; it is 
such a dignified, old, respectable name.’ 

‘ Yes ; but they call me Betty ! ’ 

‘And they call me Bell, and sometimes 
Jelly-bag, and Currant-jelly,’ said Miss Fos- 
brook, laughing and sighing, for she would have 
liked to have heard those funny names again. 

‘ Then it is no good to you ? ’ exclaimed 
Elizabeth. 

‘ I don’t know that we talk of good in such a 
matter. I like my name because of the reason 
it was given to me.’ 

‘ Oh, why ? ’ eagerly asked the little girl. 

‘ When I was born, my papa was a very 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


25 


young man, and he was very fond of reading 
poetry.’ 

‘ Why, I thought your papa was a doctor.’ 

‘ Well.’ 

‘ I thought only ladies, and poets, and idle 
silly people, cared for poetry.’ 

‘ They can hardly be silly if they care rightly 
for real poetry, Bessie,’ said Miss Fosbrook, 
‘ at least, so my papa would say. It has been 
one of his great helps. Well, in those days, he 
I was very fond of a poem about a lady called 
I Christabel, who was so good and sweet, that 
I when evil came near, it could not touch her so 
i as to do her any harm ; and so he gave his little 
daughter her name.’ 

‘ How very nice ! ’ cried Elizabeth. 

‘ You must not envy me, my dear, for I have 
been a good deal laughed at for my pretty name, 
and so has papa ; and I do not think he would 
have chosen anything so fanciful if he had been 
a little older.’ 

‘ Then isn’t he — what is it you call it — po- 
etical now ? ’ 

‘ Indeed he is, in a good way ; ’ and as the 
, earnest eyes looked so warmly at her, Christa- 
bel Fosbrook could not help making a friend of 
■ the little maiden. ‘ He has very little time to 
read it ; for you know he is a parish surgeon in 
a great parish in London, full of poor people, 
worse off than you can imagine, and often very 
ill. He is obliged to be always hard at work 
in the narrow close streets there, and to see 
i everything sad, and dismal, and disagreeable, 
2 


26 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


that can be found ; but, do you know, Bessie, 
he always looks for the good and beautiful side ; 
he looks at one person’s patience, and at another 
person’s kindness, and at some little child’s love 
for its mother or sister, and that hinders it from 
being too painful for him.’ 

‘ But is that poetry 1 I thought poetry 
meant verses.’ 

‘ Verses are generally the best and most 
suitable way of expressing our feelings about 
what is good and beautiful ; but they are not 
always poetry, any more than the verses they 
sang to-night about the bread and butter, be- 
cause, you know, wanting thick butter was not 
exactly a beautiful feeling. I think the denying 
themselves their little indulgences for the sake 
of giving the poor woman a pig, is much more 
poetical, though nobody said a word in verse.’ 

They both laughed ; and Elizabeth said, 
‘ That wasn’t what'you meant about your papa. 
Susy cares for goodness.’ 

‘ No, it was not all I meant ; but it was see- 
ing high and noble thoughts expressed in beau- 
tiful verses that gives him pleasure, and when 
he has a little bit of leisure, it is his great treat 
to open a book of that sort, and read a little' bit 
to us, and tell us why we like it. He says it 
makes him young again, and takes him out of 
the dingy streets, and from all his cares as to 
how the bills are to be paid.’ 

‘ Did you like coming here 1 ’ was Bessie’s 
home question ; and Miss Fosbrook winked 
away a little moisture, as she said. 


THE STOKESLET SECRET. 


27 


* I was glad to be growing a woman, and to 
be able to help about some of those bills ; and 
then I was glad to come into the beautiful coun- 
try that papa had so often told us about.’ 

‘ I did not know there was anything beauti- 
ful here.’ 

‘ Oh, Bessie, you never lived in London ! 
You can’t think how many things are beautiful 
to me here ! I want to be writing about them 
to papa and Kate all day long.’ 

‘Are they ? ’ said Bessie. ‘ Mamma has pretty 
things in the drawing-room, but she keeps them 
out of the way ; and everything here is so dull 
and stupid ! ’ and the little girl gave a yawn. 

Miss Fosbrook understood her. The wain- 
scoted room in which they were sitting had been 
painted of a uniform creamy brown, the chairs 
were worn, the table was blistered and cracked, 
the carpet only covered the middle of the room, 
and was so threadbare, that only a little red 
showed here and there. All that was needful 
was there, but of the plainest kind ; and where 
the other children only felt ease and freedom, 
and were the more contented and happy for the 
homely good sense of all around them, this little 
girl felt a want that she scarcely understood, but 
which made her uncomfortable and discontented, 
even when she had so much to be thankful for. 

Miss Fosbrook moved nearer to the window. 
Down below there was certainly not much to be 
seen ; only Pierce cleaning the knives in the 
knife-house, and Martha washing out her pans 
before the dairy door ; but that was not where 


28 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


she looked. She turned the little half-fretful 
face upwards. ‘ Look there ! ’ she said ; ‘ and 
talk of seeing nothing pretty ! ’ 

‘ I see nothing — ’ 

‘ Do you not see the pale clear green of those 
noble horse-chestnut leaves just sprung into 
their full summer dress — not in the least worn 
nor stained yet? And those fine spikes of 
white blossom, all tending up — up — while the 
masses of those leaves fall so gracefully down, 
as if lifting them up, and then falling back to 
do them honour.’ Bessie smiled, and her eye 
lighted up. ‘ And see the colour against the 
sky — look at the contrast of that bright light 
green with the blue, so very deep, of the sky — ^ 
and oh ! see that train of little clouds, red with 
soft sunny light, like a little soft flock of rosy 
lambs, if there were such things, lying across 
the sky. Oh, Bessie ! you can’t talk of want- 
ing the sight of pretty things while you have 
that sky.’ 

Bessie was coming closer to her, when in 
burst Sam and Johnnie. 

‘ Hollo, Bess ! moping here, I declare ! I 
suppose you and Miss Fosbrook are telling each 
other all your secrets.’ 

‘ I was just coming out,’ said Miss Fosbrook. 
‘ I want to make out something about those no- 
ble flowers of the horse-chestnut, and why they 
don’t look whiter. Could you gather one for 
me, Sam ? ’ 

Sam was only too glad of an excuse for climb- 
ing a tree, however cheaply he might hold one 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


29 


who cared for flowers ; and by the time Bessie 
j had put on her lilac-spotted sun-honnet — a shape- 
1 less article it must be confessed, with a huge 
curtain serving for a tippet, very comfortable, 
and no trouble at all — ^he had scrambled into 
the fork, and brought down a beautiful spire of 
blossoms, with all the grand leaves hanging 
round in their magnificent fans. 

‘ What will you do with it ? ’ said the chil- 
dren, standing round. 

‘ Do you think you could ask Mary to spare 
us a jug, Susan ? If I might put it in water in 
the school-room fire-place, it would look fresh 
: and cheerful for Sunday.* 

‘ 0 yes,* said Susan, pleased with the com- 
« mission, ‘ that I will ; * and away she ran, while 
‘ Miss Foshrook examined the spike to her own 
' great enjoyment. ‘ I see,’ she said, ‘ the flowers 
are not really white, they each have a patch of 
pink or yellow on them, which gives them their 
; softness. Yes ; and do you see, Bessie, they 
• are in clusters of three, and each three has one 
; flower with a pink spot, and two with a yellow 
I one.* 

‘ That is very curious,’ said Bessie ; the 
; fretfulness was very much gone out of her tone, 

I and she stood looking at the beautiful flower, 
without a word, till Susan came hack, when she 
began to show her what Miss Foshrook had 
pointed out. Susan smiled with her really good 
nature, and said, ‘ How funny ; ’ hut was more 
intent on telling Miss Foshrook that she had 


30 THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 

brought the jug, and then on hauling Elizabeth 
away to a game at Tom Tittler’s ground. 

Miss Fosbrook said she would put away the 
flower and come back again ; and she settled 
the branch in the chimney, where it looked very 
graceful, and really did enliven the room, and 
then walked out towards the lawn. 

There was a lawn in front of the house, 
part of which had been formerly levelled for a 
bowling-green, and was kept clear of shrubs or 
flower-beds. Beyond was a smooth, rather rapid 
slope towards a quiet river, beyond which there 
rose again a beautiful green field, crowned above 
by a thick wood, ending at the top in some 
scraggy pine-trees, with scanty dark foliage at 
the top of their rude russet arms. Fine trees 
stood out here and there upon the slope of the 
field, and Captain Merrifield’s fine sheeted cows 
were licking each other, or chewing the cud, 
under them. 

There was a white Chinese bridge, the rails 
all zigzags, and patterns running this w^ay and 
that, so that it must have been very ugly and 
glaring before the white paint had faded so 
much. 

The house was a respectable old stone build- 
ing, rather brown and grey, and the stone some- 
what disposed to peel off in flakes ; the windows 
large sashes, set in great projecting squared 
stones, the tallest and biggest at the top. It 
was a house of a very sober pleasant counte- 
nance, that looked as if it had always been used 
to have a large family in it ; and there was a 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


31 


vine, with all its beauteous leaves, trained all 
I across the garden front, making a pleasant green 
I summer-blind over the higher half of the draw- 
I ing-room windows, that now stood open, telling 
j of the emptiness within. 

I Christabel stood for a few moments looking 
i round, and thinking what a paradise of green 
rest this would be to her hard-worked father and 
anxious mother ; and how she should like to see 
her little brothers and sisters have one free run 
I and roll on that delicious greensward, instead 
of now and then walking to one of the parks 
as a great holiday. Yet hers was a very happy 
home, and, except her being absent from it, 
nothing had befallen her to sadden her merry 
young spirits ; so when she heard the joyous cry 
behind her — 

‘ I’m on Tommy Tittler’s ground, 

Picking up gold and silver,’ 

she turned about, and laughed as she saw the 
gold-finders stooping and clawing at the grass, 
with eyes cast round about them for Hal, who 
was pursuing Susan in and out, up and down, 
till, with screams of exultation, she was safely 
across the ridge of the bowling-green, that served 
as home. 

When Hal turned back. Miss Fosbrook was 
as heedfully and warily picking up gold and 
silver as any of the rest of them. He was re- 
solved on capturing her, but first David was 
' such a tempting prize, with his back so very 
• near, and so unconscious, that he must be made 


82 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


prisoner. A catch at the brown-holland blouse 
— a cry — a shout of laughter, and Davy is led 
up behind the standard maiden-blush rose, al- 
ways serving as the prison. And now the tug 
of war rages round it, he darts here and there 
within his bounds, holding out his hand to any 
kind deliverer whose touch may set him free ; 
and all the others run backwards and forwards, 
trying to circumvent the watchful jailor, Tom 
Tittler, who, in front of the rose-bush, flies 
instantly at whoever is, only coming near his 
captive. 

Ha 1 Susan had nearly — all but done it, 
while Hal was chasing away Annie. Ho, not 
she ! Hal is back again, and with a shriek 
away she scours. Sam ! oh ! he is very near ; 
if that stupid little Davy would only look round, 
he would be free in another moment, but he only 
gapes at the pursuit of Susan, and Sam will 
touch him without his being aware ! Ho— here’s 
Hal back again. Sam’s off. What a scamper I 
How’s the time — ^here’s Miss Fosbrook, lighter- 
footed than any of the children, softly stealing 
on tip-toe, while Hal is scaring Johnnie. Her 
fingers just touch Davy’s. Freed ! Freed 1 is 
the cry ; and off goes he, pounding for home 1 
but Hal rushes across the path, he intercepts 
Miss Fosbrook, and, with a shout of triumph — 
there is the sound of a rent. Everybody stands 
a little aghast. 

‘ It is only the gathers,’ says Miss Fosbrook, 
good-humouredly. ‘ I’ll tuck them up, and sew 
them in by-and-by ; but really, Hal, you need 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


33 


I, 

i not pull so furiously ; I would have yielded to 
1 something short of that.* 

j ‘Gowns are such stuff!* said Hal, really 
I meaning it for an apology, though it did not 
sound like one, for her good-natured face abashed 
him a little. 

‘ Touch and take used to be our rule,’ said 
Miss Foshrook. 

Bessie eagerly said that would he the best 
way, the boys were so rude ; but all the rest 
with one voice cried out, that it would be very 
stupid ; and Miss Fosbrook did not press it, 

; but only begged in a droll way that some one 
would take pity on her, and come to release 
: her ; and so alert was she in skipping towards 
her allies from behind the rose-bush, that Bessie 
i! presently succeeded in giving the rescuing touch, 
I’ and she flew back quick as^ a bird to the safe 
: territory, dragging Bessie with her, who other- 
i wise would have assuredly been caught ; and 
i: who, warm with the spirit of the game, felt as 
‘ if she should have been quite glad to be made 
I prisoner for her dear Christabel’s sake. 

An hour after, and all the children were in 
^ bed : Susan and Annie agreeing that a govern- 
Ij ess was no such great bother after all ; and Eliza- 
; beth lying awake to whisper over to herself, 
s ‘ Christabel Angela, Christabel Angela I That’s 
I my secret ! ’ in a sort of dream of pleasure that 
; will make most people decide on her being a 
? very silly little girl. 

! And Christabel Angela herself sat mending 
f her gathers, and thinking over her first week of 


34 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


far greater difficulties than she had contemplated 
when she had left home with the understanding 
that she was to be entirely under Mrs. Merri- 
field’s directions. Poor Mrs. Merrifield had said 
much of regret at leaving her to such a crew of 
little savages, and she had only tried to set the 
mother’s mind at rest by being cheerful ; and 
though she felt that it was a great undertaking 
to manage those- great boys out of lesson hours, 
she knew that when a thing cannot be helped, 
strength and aid is given to those who seek for 
it sincerely. 

And on the whole, she felt thankful to the 
children for having behaved even as well as they 
had done. 


CHAPTER III. 

‘ Grant to us Thy humble servants, that by 
Thy holy inspiration we may think those things 
that be good, and by Thy merciful guiding may 
perform the same,’ spelt out David with some 
trouble and difficulty, as he stood by Miss Fos- 
brook on Sunday morning. 

‘ Miss Foshrook % ’ 

‘ Well, my dear.’ 

‘ Miss Foshrook ? 

Another ‘ Well.’ 

•V- ‘ Is wanting to buy a pig one of the things 

that be good ? ’ 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


35 


‘ Anything kind and right is good, my dear,’ 
said Miss Fosbrook, a little vexed at a sort of 
snorting she heard from the other end of the 
room. 

‘ Davy thinks the pig is in his collect,’ said 
Sam. 

He was one of those who were especially 
proud of being downright, and in him it often 
amounted to utter regardlessness of people’s 
feelings, yet not out of ill-nature ; and when 
Susan responded, ‘ Don’t tease Davy, he can’t 
bear it, he was silent, but the mischief was done ; 
and when Miss Fosbrook went on saying that 
the wish to help the poor woman was assuredly 
a good thought, which the little boy might well 
ask to be aided in fulfilling, David had grown 
ashamed and would not listen. But the mention 
of the pig had set oflf Master Henry, who was 
sitting up in the window-seat with Anne, also 
learning the collect, and he burst out into de- 
scriptions of the weight of money that would be 
found in Toby, and how he meant to go to the 
fair with Purday, and help him to choose the 
pig, and drive it home. 

‘ More likely to hinder,’ muttered Sam. 

‘ Besides, Papa wouldn’t let you,’ added Bessie ; 
but Hal did not choose to hear, and went on as 
to how the pig should run away with Purday, 
and jump into a stall full of parliament ginger- 
bread, (whereat Annie fell into convulsions of 
laughing,) and Hal should be the first to stop it, 
and jump on its back, and ride out of the fair^* 
holding it by the ears ; and then they should 


36 


THE STOKESLEY SECKET. 


pop it into the sty unknown to Hannah Higgins ; 
and all lie in wait to hear what would happen ; 
and when it squealed, she would think it the 
baby crying ; but there Susan burst out at the 
notion of any one thinking a child could scream 
like a pig, taking it as an affront to all baby- 
hood ; and Miss Fosbrook took the opportunity 
of saying, 

‘ Hadn’t you better hatch your chickens be- 
fore you count them, Henry? If you prevent 
every one from learning the collect, I fear there 
will be the less hope of Mr. Piggy.’ 

‘ Oh ! we don’t have fines on Sunday,’ said 
Henry. 

‘ Mamma says that on Sundays naughtiness 
is not such a trifle that we can be fined for it,’ 
said Susan. 

^ ‘ It is not naughtiness we are ever fined for,’ 

added Elizabeth ; ^ that we are punished and 
talked to for, but the fines are only for bad 
habits.’ 

‘ Oh ! I hope I shan’t have any this week,’ 
sighed Susan. 

‘You may hope,’ said Sam. ‘You’re sure 
of them for everything possible except crying.’ 

‘ Yes, Bessie gets all the crying fines,’ said 
Hal, ‘and I hope she’ll have lots, because she 
won’t help the pig.’ 

* Bessie started up from her place and rushed 
out of the room, while Miss Fosbrook indig- 
nantly exclaimed, 

‘ Keally, boys, I can’t think how you can be 
so ill-natured ! ’ 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


37 


They looked up as though it were quite a 
I new light to them ; and Susan exclaimed, 
j ‘ Oh ! Miss Fosbrook, they don’t mean it : 

I Sam and Hal never were ill-natured in their 
lives.’ 

‘I don’t know what you call ill-natured,’ 

I said Miss Fosbrook, ‘ unless it is saying the very 
' things most likely to vex another.’ 

‘ I don’t mean to vex anybody,’ said Henry, 
‘ only we always go on so, and nobody is such a 
1 baby as to mind, except Bessie.’ 

And Sam muttered, ‘ One can’t be always 
picking one’s words.’ 

‘ I’m not going to argue about it,’ said Miss 
Fosbrook; ‘and it is time to get ready for 
church. Only I thought manliness was shown 
in kindness to the weak, and avoiding what can 
pain them.’ 

She went away ; and 'Susan was the first tq 
exclaim, 

‘ I didn’t think she’d have been so cross.’ 

‘ Stuff, Sue,’ said Sam ; ‘ it’s not being cross. 
I like her for having a spirit, but one can’t be 
finikin and mealy-mouthed to suit her London 
manners. I like the truth.’ 

It would have been well if any one had been 
by to tell Master Samuel that truth of character 
does not consist in disagreeable and uncalled-for 
personalities. < 

Miss Fosbrook did not wonder at little 
Elizabeth for her discomfort under the rude 
! homeliness of Stokesley, where the children 
made a bad copy of their father’s sailor-blunt- 
3 


38 


THE STOKESLET SECRET. 


ness, and the difficulties of money matters kept 
down all indulgences. She knew that Captain 
Merrifield was as poor a man for an esquire, as 
her father was for a surgeon, and that if he were 
to give his sons an education fit for their station, 
he must make his household live plainly in every 
way ; but without thinking them right feelings, 
she had some pity for little Bessie’s weariness 
and discontent in never seeing anything pretty. 
The three girls came in dressed for church in 
the plainest brown hats, black capes, and drab 
alpaca frocks, rather long and not very full ; not 
a coloured bow nor handkerchief, not a flounce 
nor fringe, to relieve them; even their books 
plain brown. Bessie looked wistfully at Miss 
Fosbrook’s pretty Church-service, and said she 
and Susan both had beautiful Prayer Books, but 
mamma said they could not be trusted with 
them yet — Ida Greville had such a beauty. 

Was it the effect of Miss Fosbrook’s words 
that Sam forebore to tease Bessie about Ida 
Greville, whose name was a very dangerous 
subject in the school-room 1 

Also, he let Bessie take hold of Miss Fos- 
brook’s hand in peace, though in general thf' 
least token of affection was scouted by the whol 
party. It was a pretty walk to church, over i 
paddock where the cows were turned out, and 
then along a green lane ; and the boys had been 
trained enough in Sunday habits to make them 
steady and quiet on the way, especially as 
Henry was romancing about the pig. 

By-and-by Elizabeth gave Miss Fosbrook’s 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


39 


hand a sudden pull, and she perceived in the 
village street into which they were emerging, a 
party on the way to church. There were two 
ladies, one in stately handsome slight mourning, 
the other more quietly dressed, and two or three 
boys ; but what Elizabeth wanted her to look 
at was, a little girl of nine years old, who was 
walking beside the lady. Her hat was black 
chip, edged and tied with rose-coloured ribbon, 
and adorned with a real bird, with glass eyes, 
black plumage, except the red crest and wings. 
She wore a neatly-fitting little fringed black 
I polka, beneath which spread out in fan-like 
folds her flounced pink muslin, coming a little 
■ below her knees, and showing her worked 
drawers, which soon gave place to her. neat 
j stockings and dainty little boots. She held a 
1 small white parasol, bordered with pink, and 
1 deeply fringed, over her head, and held a gold- 
I clasped Prayer Book in her hand; and Miss 
' Fosbrook heard a little sigh, which told her that 
this was the being whom Elizabeth Merrifield 
I thought the happiest in the world. She hoped 
I it was not all for the fine clothes ; and Sam 
I muttered, 

‘ What a little figure of fun ! ’ 
i Martin and Osmond Greville went daily to 
Mr. Carey’s, like Sam and Hal, so the boys ran 
on to them, and Mrs. Greville, turning round, 
showed a very pleasant face as she bowed to 
Miss Fosbrook, and shaking hands with Susan 
and Elizabeth, asked with much solicitude after 
their mamma, and how lately they had heard 
of her. 


40 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


Susan was too simple and straightforward to 
be shy, and answered readily that they had had 
letters, and mamma had been sadly tired by the 
journey, but was better the next day. The 
little girls shook hands, and Mrs. Greville 
made a kind of introduction by nodding towards 
her companion, and murmuring something about 
‘ Fraulein Munsterthal,’ and Miss Fosbrook 
found herself walking beside a lady with the 
least of all bonnets, a profusion of fair hair, and 
a good humoured, one-coloured face, no doubt 
Miss Ida’s German governess. She said some- 
thing about the fine day, and received an an- 
swer, but what it was she could not guess, 
whether German, French, or English, and her 
own knowledge of the two. first languages was 
better for reading than for speaking ; so after an 
awkward attempt or two, she held her peace, 
and looked at her companions. 

Susan and Mrs. Greville seemed to be get- 
ting on very well together ; but Elizabeth’s ad- 
miration of Ida seemed to be speechless, for they 
were walking side by side without a word, per- 
haps too close to their elders to talk. 

Annie and David were going on steadily hand 
in hand a little way off, and Miss Fosbrook 
chiefly heard the talk of the boys, who had 
fallen behind ; perhaps her ears were quickened 
by its personality, for though Sam was saying, 
‘ i’ll tell you what, she’s a famous follow ! ’ the 
rejoinder was, ‘ What ! do you mean to say that 
you mind her 1 ’ 

‘ Doesn’t he ? ’ said liars voice ; ‘ why, 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


41 


she sent him* away from tea last night, just for 
shying crusts.’ 

‘ And did he go ? ’ and there was a disagree- 
able sounding laugh, in which she was sorry 
that Hal joined. 

‘ Catch the Fraulein serving me so ! ’ 

‘ She never tries ! ’ 

‘ She knows better ! ’ 

‘ 1 say, Sam, I thought you had more spirit. 
You’ll be sitting up pricking holes in a frill by 
the time the captain comes back.’ 

‘ And Ilal will be mincing along with his 
toes turned out like a dancing-master,’ continued 
an affected voice. 

‘ No such thing ! ’ cried Hal angrily ; ‘ I’m 
not a fellow to be ordered about ! ’ 

The Grevilles laughed, and one of them said, 
‘ Well, then, why don’t you show it? I’d soon 
send her to the right-about, if she tried to inter- 
fere with me.’ 

Miss Fosbrook could bear it no longer, and 
facing suddenly round, looked the speaker full 
in the face, and said, ‘ I am very much obliged 
to you, but you should not speak quite so loud.’ 

The boys shrank back out of countenance, 
and Sam, who alone had not spoken, looked up 
into her face with a merry air, as if he were 
gratified by her spirited way of discomfiting 
them. 

Osmond tried to recover, and muttered, 
‘ What a sell ! ’ rather impudently ; but they 
were now near the churchyard, and Mrs. Gre- 
ville turning round, all was hushed. 


42 THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 

Christabel felt much vexed tliat all this 
should have happened just before going into 
church ; she felt a good deal ruffled herself, and 
feared that Bessie’s head was filled with non- 
sense, if Hal’s were not with something worse. 

The church looked pretty outside, with the 
old weather-boarded wooden belfry rising above 
the tiled roof and western gable ; and it was 
neatly kept, but not pretty within, the walls all 
done over with pale buff wash, and the wood- 
work very clumsy. Sam and Susan behaved 
well and attentively, but Bessie fidgeted into 
her mamma’s place, and would stand upon a 
hassock. Miss Fosbrook was much afraid it 
was to keep in sight of the beautiful bird. Hal 
yawned, and Johnnie not only fidgeted unbear- 
ably himself, but made his sister Annie do the 
same, till Miss Fosbrook scarcely felt as if she 
was at church, and made up her mind to tell 
Johnnie that she should leave him at home with 
the babies unless he changed his ways. Little 
David went on most steadily with his Prayer 
Book, and scarcely looked off it till the sermon, 
when he fell asleep. 

Miss Fosbrook had one pleasure as she was 
going home. The children had all gone on 
some steps before her, chattering eagerly among 
themselves, when Sam turned back, and said 
abruptly, ‘ Miss Fosbrook, you didn’t mind that, 
I hope.’ 

* What those boys were saying % It depends 
on you whether you make me mind it.’ 

‘ I don’t mean to make any rows if I can help 
it,’ said Sam. 


THE 6T0KESLEY SECRET. 


45 


‘ I am sure I hope you will be able to help 
it ! I don’t know what I should do if you 
did ! ’ 

Sam gave an odd smile with his honest face. 
‘ Well, you’ve got a good spirit of your own. 
It would tal^e something to cow you.’ 

‘ Pray don’t try ! ’ 

Sam laughed, and said, ‘ I did promise papa 
to be conformable.’ 

‘ And 1 was very much obliged to you yes- 
terday evening. The behaviour of the other 
I boys depends so much on you.’ 

; ‘ Yes, I know,’ said Sam, ‘ and I don’t mind 

I it so much now I see you can stand up for your- 

self.’ 

‘ Besides, what would it be if I had to write 
to your father that I could not manage such a 
bear-garden 1 ’ 

‘ I’ll take care that shan’t happen,’ exclaimed 
Sam. ‘ It would hinder all the good to mamma I 
I’ll tell you what,’ he added, after a confidential 
pause, ‘ if we get beyond you, there’s Mr. 
Oarey.’ 

' ‘ I thought you did not mean to get beyond 

me.’ 

( Sam looked a little disconcerted, and it 
i struck her that though he would not say so, he 
was doubtful whether the Greville influence 
: might not render Henry unmanageable; but 
he quickly gave it another turn. ‘ Only you 
j must not plague us about London manners.’ 
j ‘ I don’t know what you mean by London 
I manners. Do you mean not bawling at tea? 


44 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


for I mean to insist upon that, I assure you, 
and I want you to help me.’ 

‘ Oh ! not being ^ikin, and mincing, and 
nonsensical ! ’ 

‘ I hope I’m not so ! said Miss Tosbrook, 
laughing heartily ; ‘ but I’ll tell you one thing, 
Sam, that I do wish you would leave off — and 
that is teazing. I don’t know whether that is 
country manners, but I don’t like to see a sen- 
sible kind fellow like you just go out of your 
way to say something mortifj/ing to a younger 
one.’ 

‘ You don’t know,’ said Sam. ‘ It is fun. 
They like it.’ 

‘ If they really like it, there is no objection. 
I know I should like very much to have my 
brother here quizzing me ; but you know very 
well there are two sorts of such fun, and one 
that is only sport to the stronger side.’ 

‘ Bessie is so ridiculous.’ 

‘ She is the very one I want to protect. I 
don’t think that teazing her does any good ; it 
only gives her cross feelings. And she really 
has more right on her side than you think. 
You might be just as honest and bold if you 
were less rude and bearish.’ 

‘ I can’t bear to see her so affected and 
perked up.’ 

‘ It is not affectation. She is really more 
gentle and quiet than you are ; you don’t think 
it so in your mamma, and she is like her.’ 

‘ Mamma is not like Bessie.’ 

‘ And then about Davy. How could you go 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


45 


and stop the poor little hoy when he was trying 
to think and feel rightly ? ’ 

‘ He was so funny,’ repeated Sam. 

‘ I hope you will think another time whether 
your fun is safe and kind.’ 

‘ One can’t be so particular,’ he said impa- 
tiently. 

‘ 1 am sorry to hear it. I thought the only 
way to do right was to be particular.’ 

He grunted and flung away from her. She 
was vexed to have sent him off* in such a mood, 
but unmannerly as he was, she saw so much 
good in him, that she could not but hope he 
would be her friend and ally. 

Dinner went off* very peaceably, and then 
Susan fetched her two darlings from the nur- 
sery, George and Sarah, of three years and 
eighteen months old. Her great perfection was 
as a motherly elder sister, and even Sam was 
gentle to these little things, and played with 
them very nicely. 

Miss Fosbrook reminded Hal of his collect; 
but he observed that there was plenty of time, 
and continued to stand by the window, pursuing 
the flies with his finger, not killing them, but 
tormenting them and David very seriously, by 
making them think he would — not a very pretty 
business for the day when all things should be 
happy — more like that which is always found 
‘ for idle hands to do.’ 

Evening service-time put an end to this 
sport ; but Miss Fosbrook could not set off till 
after a severe conflict with Johnnie. She had 


46 


THE STOKESLET SECEET. 


decreed that he should not go again that day- 
after his behaviour in the morning, and perhaps 
he would not have minded this punishment much 
if David had not been going, which made him 
think it a disgrace. So, in the most independ- 
ent manner, he put on his hat, and was march- 
ing off, when Miss Fosbrook stood in front of 
him, and ordered him back. 

He repeated, ‘ I’m going to church.’ It was 
plain enough that he had heard what those boys 
had said about not submitting. 

‘ Church is not the place to go to in a fit of 
wilfulness, J ohnnie,’ she said ; and his sisters 
broke out, ‘ O J ohnnie ! ’ but the naughty boy 
fancying, perhaps, that want of time would lead 
to his getting his own way, marched on, stick- 
ing up his toes very high in the air. 

Hal laughed. 

‘Johnnie, Johnnie dear,’ entreated Susan, 
‘ what would mamma say 1 ’ 

John would not hear, and walked on. 

‘John,’ said Miss Fosbrook, ‘ if you do not 
come back directly, I must carry you.’ 

She had measured her strength with his ; he 
was only eight years old, and she believed that 
she could carry him ; but he heard the church- 
bells ringing, and thought he should have his way. 

She laid hold of him, and he began fighting 
and kicking in stout shoes whose thumps were 
no joke. She held fast, but she felt frightened, 
and doubtful of the issue of the struggle ; and 
again there was Hal laughing. 

‘ For-shame, Henry ! ’ burst out Sam ; and 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


4t 


the same moment those two feet were secured, 
and John was a prisoner. Miss Fosbrook called 
out to the rest to go on to church, and she and 
Sam dragged the boy up to the nursery, and 
shut him in there, roaring passionately. 

Nurse Freeman, knowing nothing about it, 
could not believe but that the stranger lady had 
made her child naughty, and said something 
about their mamma letting him go to church ; 
and ‘ when the child wished to go to church, it 
seemed strange he should not.’ 

Miss Fosbrook would not defend herself, for 
she was in great haste ; but Sam exclaimed, 
‘Stuff! he was as naughty as could be all this 
morning, and only wanted to go now because he 
was told not.’ 

Johnnie bellowed out something else, but 
Miss Fosbrook w'ould not let Sam go on ; she 
touched his arm and drew him off with her, he 
exclaiming, ‘ Foolish old Freeman ; she will pet 
and spoil him all church-time, till he is worse 
than ever 1 ’ 

It was lucky for her that she was too much 
hurried to dwell on this vexation ; she almost 
ran to save herself from being late, and scarcely 
heard Sam’s mutterings about wishing to break 
Martin Greville’s head. 

‘ You need not hurry so much,’ he said ; 
‘ there’s a shorter cut, only I suppose you can’t 
get through a gap.’ 

‘ Can’t I ? ’ she laughed ; and he led her on 
straight through the Short-horns. Some of 
them looked at her more' than she fancied, but 


43 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


she knew she might give up all hopes of Sam / 
if he detected her fears. Then came the gap, 
where a tree had been cut down in the hedge, 
and such a jump down from it ! But she gath- I 
ered up her muslin, and made her leap so gal- 
lantly, that the boy cried, 

‘ Hurrah ! well done ! ’ and came and walked 
close to her, saying confidentially, ‘I say, do 
you think we shall ever do the pig ? ’ 

‘ I am sure it might be done. If you are 
likely to do it ; you must know better than I.’ 

‘ I don’t know that I much care about it. It 
will be rather a bother ; only now we have said 
it, I shall hate it if we don’t do it.’ 

‘ I think the pleasure of giving it will be a 
delightful reward for a little self-command.’ 

‘ Only Hal and the girls will make such a 
work about it. I’m glad, after all, that Bessie 
has nothing to do with it, or she would want to 
dress it up in flowers and ribbons. Ha ! ha ! 
But what a little crab it is ! ’ 

‘ Don’t be too sure of that. People may 
have other designs.’ 

‘ Bessie’s can’t be any thing but trumpery.’ 

* Sometimes present trumpery is a step to 
something better. A was an Archer,” is not 
very wise, but it is the road to reading — and 
even if it were not so, Sam, it is not right to 
shame people into giving ; for what is not be- 
stowed for the true reasons, does no good to 
giver nor to receiver.’ 

Sam looked up with a frown of attention, as 
if he were trying to take in the new light ; but 


THE 6T0KESLEY SECRET. 


49 


he did take it in, and smacking his hands to- 
I gether with a noise like a pistol shot, said, ‘ Ay, 
I that’s it ! We don’t want what is grudged.’ 

I Miss Fosbrook thought of words that would 
! another thne be more familiar to Sam. ‘ Not 
I grudgingly, nor of necessity, for God loveth a 
, cheerful giver.’ 

What she said was, ‘ You see if you plague 
1 Bessie too much, to make her like yourselves, 

I when she is really so different, you are driving 
her to the shamming you despise so much.’ 

‘ But ought not she to be cured of being 
silly ? ’ 

‘ When we have quite made up our minds 
upon what silliness is. There, the bell has 
stopped.’ 


CHAPTER IV. 

The most part of church-time Johnnie was 
eating Nurse Freeman’s plum-cake. Perhaps 
: this did not make him any easier in the con- 
, science, but he had a very unlucky sentiment, 
that as he was already naughty and in disgrace, 
it was of no use to take the trouble of being 
good, till he could make a fresh beginning ; and 
after what the Grevilles had said, he did not 
think that would be till papa and mamma came 
home; he did not at all mean to give into a 
girl that was not even twenty. So he would 


60 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


not turn to the only wise thing he could have 
done, the learning of his collect, but he teazed 
nurse out of more cake and more, and got what 
play he could out of little George, and that was 
not much, for Johnnie was not in a temper to be 
pleasant with a little one. 

Coming home from church, collects were to 
be learnt, and said before tea ; but Hal, after 
glancing over his own, took up his cap, and said, 
‘ Come along, Sam, Pur day will be feeding the 
pigs ; I want to choose the size of ours.’ 

‘ I’ve not done,’ said Sam. 

‘ Papa never said we were to say them to 
Miss Fosbrook. 

‘ He meant it, though,’ was all Sam’s answer. 
‘ Don’t hinder me.’ 

‘ Well, I’ve no notion of being bound by what 
people mean,’ continued Hal ; and no one could 
imagine the torment he made himself, neither 
going nor staying, arguing tlj^g matter with his 
elder brother, as if Sam’s commg would justify 
him, and interrupting every one; till at last 
Miss Fosbrook gathered all her spirit, and or- 
dered him either to sit down and learn properly at 
once, or to go quite away. She was very much 
vexed, for Henry had been the most obliging 
and good-natured of all at first, and likely to be 
fond of her, but such a great talker could not 
fail to be weak, and his vanity had been set 
against her. He looked saucy at first, and much 
inclined to resist ; if he had seen any sympathy 
for him in Sam, he might have done so, but 
Miss Fosbrook’s steady eye was too much for 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


51 


him, so he saved his dignity, as he thought, by 
exclaiming, * I’m sure I don’t want to stay in 
this stuffy hole with such a set of owls. I shall 
go to Purday ; ’ and off he marched. 

The others stayed, and said their collects and 
Catechism very respectably, all but John, who 
had not learnt the collect at all, and was sent 
into another room to finish it, to which he made 
no resistance ; he had had enough of actual fight- 
ing with Miss Posbrook. 

Then she offered to read a story to the 
others, but she found that this was distasteful 
even to her friend Sam ; he thought it stupid to 
be read to, and said he should see after Hal ; 
David trotted after him, and Susan and Annie 
repaired to the nursery to play with the little 
ones and the baby. She minded it the less, as 
they all had some purpose, but she had already 
been vexed to find that all but Davy preferr^ 
the most arrant ^-^acant idleness to anything 
rational. To be sure, Susan sometimes, Bessie 
I and Hal always, would read any book that made 
! no pretensions to be instructive, but even a fact 
t about a lion or an elephant made them detect 
\ wisdom in disguise, and throw it aside. She 
I thought, however, she would make the most of 
Bessie, and asked whether she would like to 
: hear reading, or to read to herself. 

‘ To myself,’ said Bessie ; and there was a 
silence, while Miss Fosbrook, glad of the quiet, 
began reading her Christian Year. Presently 
she heard a voice so low that it seemed at a dis- 
I tance, and it made her start, for it was saying 


52 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET, 


‘ Christabel ! ’ then she almost laughed, for it 
seemed to have been an audacious experiment 
to judge by little Elizabeth’s scared looks and 
the glow on her cheeks. 

‘ May I say it sometimes when we are alone 
together ? ’ she said timidly. ‘ I do like it so 
much ! ’ 

‘If it is such a pleasure to you, I would not 
deprive you of it,’ said Miss Eosbrook laughing ; 
‘ but don’t do so, except when we are alone, for 
your mamma would not like me to seem younger 
still.’ 

‘ Ob, thank you ! Isn’t it a nice secret ? ’ 
cried Bessie, clinging to her hand ; ‘ and will 
you let me hug you sometimes ? ’ 

A little love was pleasant to Miss Eosbrook, 
when she was feeling lonely, and she took Bes- 
sie in her lap, and they exchanged caresses, to 
the damage of the collar that Miss Eosbrook’s 
sister had worked for her. 

‘ And you don’t call me silly !’ cried Bessie. 

‘ That depends,’ was the answer, with some 
arch fun ; but Bessie had not much turn for fun, 
and presently went on — - 

‘ And you saw Ida Greville ? ’ 

‘ Yes.’ 

‘ What did you think of her ? ’ 

‘ I had not much opportunity of learning 
what to think.’ 

‘ But lier parasol, and her bird ! Did you 
think her mamma very silly to give her pretty 
things ? ’ 

‘No, certainly not, unless she wore them at 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 53 

unsuita})le times, or thought too much about 
them.’ 

‘Ida has so many, she does not think of 
them at all. And she has shells, and such a 
lovely workbox, and picture-books ; she has all 
she wants.’ 

‘ Are you quite sure % ’ 

‘ Oh, yes, quite sure ! and they don’t teaze 
her for liking pretty things ; her brothers keep 
quite away, and never bother about the school- 
room ; but she learns Italian, and German, and 
drawing, and singing. Mrs. Greville said some- 
thing about our spending the day there ! Oh ! 
if we do but go ! Won’t you. Miss Fosbrook ? ’ 

‘ If I am asked, and if your mamma would 
wish it.’ 

‘ Oh, mamma always lets us go, except once 
— when — when — ’ 

‘ When what ? ’ 

‘ When I cried,’ said Elizabeth, hanging 
down her head ; ‘ 1 couldn’t help it. It did seem 
so tiresome here, and she said I was learning to 
be discontented ; but nobody can help wishing, 
can they 1 ’ 

‘ There must be a way of not breaking the 
Tenth Commandment.’ 

‘ I don’t covet ; I don’t want to take things 
■ away from Ida, only to have the same.’ 

‘ Yes ; but what does the explanation at the 
end of the Duty to our Neighbour say, filling out 
: that commandment ? ’ 

‘ I think I’ll go and see what Susie is doing,’ 
said Elizabeth. 


54 


THE STOKESLBY SECRET. 


Christabel sighed as the little girl walked off, 
displeased at having her repinings set before her 
in a graver light than that in which she had 
hitherto chosen to regard them. 

She saw no more of her charges till tea-time, 
when the bell brought them from different quar- 
ters, Johnny with such a grimy collar and dirty 
hands, that ho was a very un-Sunday-like figure, 
and she would have sent him away to make 
himself decent, but that she was desirous of not 
over-tormenting him. 

Sunday was always celebrated by having 
treacle with the bread, so the butter riot was 
happily escaped ; but Bessie was not in a gra- 
cious mood, and the corners of her mouth pro- 
voked the boys to begin on what they knew 
would make her afford them sport. Hal first : 
‘ I say. Bet, didn’t Purday want his gun to-day 
at church ? ’ 

Elizabeth put out her lip in expectation that 
something unpleasant was intended, and other 
voices were not slow to ask an explanation. 

‘ Shooting the cocky-oily birds.’ 

A general explosion of laughter. 

‘I say, (always the preface to the boy’s 
wit,) shall 1 get a jay down off the barn to stick 
into your hat, Betty 1 ’ 

^ ‘ Don’t, Hal,’ said such a deplorable offended 
voice, that Sam, who had really held his tongue 
at first, could not help chiming in, 

‘ No, no, a cock-sparrow for her London 
manners.’ 

‘ No, that’s for me, Sam,’ said Christabel 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


55 


good-humouredly. ‘ A London-bred sparrow ; 
a pert forward chit.’ 

She really had found a safety-valve; the 
boys were entertained, and diverted from their 
attack on their favorite victim, by finding every 
one an appropriate bird, and when they came to 
‘ Tomtits ’ and ‘ Dishwashers,’ were so astonished 
at Miss Fosbrook’s never having seen either, 
that they instantly fell into the greatest haste to 
finish their tea, and conduct her into the garden, 

i and through a course of birds, eggs, and nests, 
about which, as soon as she was assured that 
there was to be no bird’s nesting, she was very 
I eager. 

Bessie ought to have been thankful that her 
I persecutors were called oflT, but she was in a 
dismal mood, and was taken with a fit of dis- 
pleasure that her own Christabel Angela was 
following the rabble rout into the garden, in- 
stead of staying in the school room at her ser- 
vice. 

The reason of her gloom w^as, that Miss 
Fosbrook had spoken a word that she did not 
choose to take home, and yet which she could 
not shake off. So she wmld neither stay in nor 
go out cheerfully, and sauntered along looking 
so piteous, that Johnnie could not help making 
her worse by plucking at her dress, by suddenly 
twisting her cape round till the back was in 
front, and pushing her hat over her eyes, till 
‘ Don’t, Johnnie,’ in a dismal whine, alternated 
with ^ I’ll tell Miss Fosbrook.’ 

Christabel did not see nor hear. She had 


56 


THE STOKESLET SECRET. 


gone forward with a hoy on either side of her, 
and Susan walking backwards in front, all tell- 
ing the story of a cuckoo, or gowk, as Sam called 
it in Purday’s language, which they had found 
in a water-wagtail’s nest in a heap of stones, 
how it sat up constantly gaping with its huge 
mouth, while the poor little foster-parents toiled 
to their utmost to keep it supplied with cater- 
pillars ; and the last time it was seen, when full- 
fledged, were trying to lure it to come out of the 
nest, by holding up green palmers at some 
little distance before it. This was in the even- 
ing ; by morning it was gone, having probably 
taken flight at sunrise. 

Miss Fosbrook listened with all the pleasure 
the boys could desire. She had read natural 
history, and looked at birds stufied in the Brit- 
ish Museum, or alive at the Zoological Gardens, 
on the rare days when her father had time fo 
give himself and his children a treat, and her 
fresh value and interest in all these country 
things were delightful to the boys. 

It was a lovely summer evening. The sun 
was low enough to make the shadows long and 
refreshing, as they lay upon the blooming grass 
of the wilderness, softly swaying in the breeze, 
all pale with its numerous chaffy blossoms, and 
varied by the tall buttercups that raised up their 
shining yellow heads, or by white clouds of bold- 
faced ox-eye daisies. 

The pear-trees were like white garlands ; the 
apple-trees covered with white blossoms and 
rosy buds ; the climbing roses on the wall were 


THE STOKESLET SECRET. 


57 


bursting into blossom ; the sky was one blue 
vault without a cloud. 

Surely Elizabeth had no lack here of what 
was pretty. Then why did she lag behind, 
unseeing, unheeding of all, but peevishly pushing 
off John and Annie, thinking that they always 
teazed her worst on Sundays, and very much 
discomfited that Miss Fosbrook was not attend- 
ing to her ? Surely the fault was not altogether 
in what was outside her. 

•‘See,’ cry the boys. Miss Fosbrook must 
first look up there, high upon the side of the 
house, niched behind that thick stem of the vine. 
What, can’t she see those round black eyes and 
little beak ? They see her plain enough. Ah ! 
now she has them. That’s a fly-catcher. By- 
and-by they shall be able to show her the old 
birds flying round, catching flies on the wing, 
and feeding the young ones, all perched in a 
row. 

Now, can she scramble up the laurels? Yes, 
she hopes so; though she wished she had known 
what was coming, or she would have changed 
her Sunday muslin. But a look of anxiety 
came on Sam’s face as he peeped into the 
clpmp of laurels ; he signed back the others, 
sprang upon the dark scraggy bough of the 
tree, and Hal called out, 

‘ Gone ! has Kalph been there?’ 

‘ Ay, the black rascal ; at least I suppose so. 
Not an egg left, and they would have hatched 
this week.’ 

‘ Well, Purday calls him his best friend,’ said 


58 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


Harry. ‘ He says we should not get a currant 
or a gooseberry if it wasn’t for that there raven, 
as papa won’t have the small birds shot.’ 

‘ Bring down the nest, Sam,’ cried Susan ; 

‘ Georgy will like to have it.’ 

The children behind, who never could hear 
of anything to be had without laying a claim 
to it, shouted that they wanted the nest ; but 
Sam said Sue had spoken first, and they fell 
back discontented, and more bent on their un- 
kind sport. Miss Fosbrook was rather shocked 
at the tearing out the nest, and asked if the old 
bird would not have another brood there ; but it 
was explained that a thrush would never return 
to a forsaken nest ; and when Sam came down 
with it in his hand, she was delighted with the 
wonderful cup that formed the lining, so smooth 
and firm a bason formed of dried mud set within 
the grassy wall. She had thought that swallows 
alone built with mud, and had to learn that the 
swallows used their clay for their outer walls, 
and down for their lining, whereas the thrush is 
a regular plasterer. 

Sam promised her another thrush to make up 
for her disappointment, and meantime conducted 
her to a very untidy old summer-house, the moss 
of whose roof hung down loose and rough, over 
a wild collection of headless wooden horses, little 
ships with torn sails, long sticks, battered wa- 
tering-pots, and old garden tools. She was 
desired to look up to one of the openings in the 
ragged moss, and believe that it housed a kitty- 
wren’s family of sixteen or eighteen ; but she 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


55 


liad to take this on trust, for to lay a finger near 
would lead to desertion ; in fact, Sam was rather 
sorry to be able to point out to her, on coming 
out, the tiny, dark, nutmeg, cock-tailed father 
kitty, popping in and out of the thorn hedge, 
spying at the party. 

Now, then, for a wonder as they came out. 
Sam waved everybody away — nay,' waved is a 
small word for what he did — shouted, pushed, 
ordered, would be more like it. He was going 
to give Miss Fosbrook such a proof of his esteem 
as hardly any one enjoyed, not even Hal, twice 
in the summer. 

Everybody submitted to his violent demon- 
strations, and Christabel followed him to the 
back of the summer-house. There stood a large 
red flower-pot upside down. 

‘ Now, Miss Fosbrook 1 ’ 

Sam’s finger hooked into the hole at the top. 
Off came the flower-pot, and disclosed something 
flying off with rushing wings, and something 
confused remaining, a cluster of grey wings all 
quill, with gaping yellow mouths here and there 
opening, a huddling movement always going on 
in the forlorn heap, as if each were cold, and 
wanted to be undermost. 

‘ Tits, my tits ! ’ said Sam triumphantly ; 
^they’ve built their nest here three years follow- 
ing.’ 

* But how do they get in and out 1 ’ 

‘ Through the hole. Take care. I’ll show you 
one.* 

* Won’t you frighten away the bird ? ’ 


60 


THE STOKESLEY SECBET. 


‘ Oh dear, no ! Ox-eyes aren’t like wrens ; 
I go to them every day. See ! ’ and he took up 
in his hand a creature that could just be seen to 
be intended for a bird, though the long skinny 
neck was bare, and the tiny quills of the young 
wings only showed a little grey sprouting 
feather, as did the breast some primrose-coloured 
down. Miss Fosbrook had to part with some 
favourite cockney notions of the beauty of infant 
birds, and on the other hand to gain a vivid idea 
of what is meant by ‘ callow young.’ 

Sam quickly put his nestling back, and 
showed her the parent. She could hardly be- 
lieve that the handsome bird in the smooth grey 
coat, and bright straw-coloured waistcoat, with 
the broad jet black line down the centre, the 
great white cheeks edged with black, and the 
bold knowing look, could be like what the little 
bits of deformity in the nest would soon become. 

‘ Ay, that’s an ox-eye,’ said Sam. ‘ You’ll 
hear them going on peter — peter — ^peter all the 
spring.’ 

But Sam was cut short by a loud and lam- 
entable burst of roaring, where they had left 
the party. 

Miss Fosbrook hurried back, hearing Hal’s 
rude laugh as she came nearer. It was Eliza- 
beth, sobbing in the passionate way in which it 
is not good to see a child cry, and violently 
shaking off Susan, who was begging her to stop 
herself before Miss Fosbrook should come. 

What was the matter ? 

‘ Oh ! Betty’s nonsense.’ 


THE 6T0KESLEY SECRET. 


61 


‘Johnnie did — 

‘ J ohnnie only — ^ 

‘Now, Hal ! ’ 

‘ Tell-tale ! ’ ‘ Cry-baby ! * 

‘ She only cried that Miss Fosbrook might 
hear.’ 

So shouted the little Babel, Bessie sobbing 
resentfully between her words, till Miss Fos- 
brook, insisting that everybody should be quiet, 
desired her to tell what had happened. 

‘ Johnnie — Johnnie called me a toad.’ 

The others all burst out laughing, and Miss 
Fosbrook, trying to silence them with a frown, 
said it was very rude of John, but she saw no 
reason why a girl of Bessie’s age should act so 
childish a part. 

‘ He’s been teazing me, and so has Annie, alt 
this time,’ cried Bessie. ‘ They’ve been at me 
ever since I came out, pulling me and plaguing 
me, and — ’ 

‘ Well,’ said Susan, ‘ I told you to walk in 
front of Miss Fosbrook, where they could not.’ 

‘ I didn’t do anything to her,’ said John. 

‘ Now, Johnnie.’ 

‘ He only pulled her frock, and poked her 
ankles,’ said Annie pleadingly. 

‘ Only — and why did you do what she did 
not like % ’ 

Johnnie looked sturdy and cross. Annie 
hung her head, and Elizabeth burst out again, 

‘ They always do — they always are cross to 
me ! 1 said I’d tell you, and now they said Ida 

4 


62 


THE STOKESLEY SECEJ 


was a conceited little toad, and stingy Bet was 
another ; ’ and out burst her howls again. 

‘ A very sad and improper way of spending a 
Sunday evening,’ said Miss Fosbrook, who had 
really grown quite angry. ‘Annie and John, I 
will put an end to this teazing. Go to bed this 
instant.’ 

They did not dare to disobey, but went off 
slowly with sulky footsteps, muttering to one 
another that Miss Fosbrook always took pipy 
Betty’s part ; nurse said so, and they wished 
mamma was at home. And when they came up 
to the nursery, nurse pitied them. She had 
never heard of a young lady doing such a thing 
as ordering off two poor dear children to bed 
for only just saying a word ; but it seemed there 
were to be favourites now. No, she could not 
put them to bed ; they must wait till Mary came 
in from her walk ; she wasn’t going to put her- 
self out of the way for any fine London gov- 
erness. 

So Johnnie had another conquest over Miss 
Fosbrook ; but Annie was uncomfortable, and 
went and sat in a corner, wishing she had had 
her punishment properly over, and kicking her 
brother away when he wanted to play with her. 

As for Bessie, she only cried the more for 
Miss Foshrook’s trying to talk to her. It was a 
way of hers, perhaps from being less strong than 
the others, if once she started in a cry, she could 
not leave off. 

Susan told Miss Fosbrook so ; and the boys 
tried to drag her on with a promise of a black- 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


63 


bird’s nest ; but she thought them unfeeling to 
such woeful distress, and first tried to reason 
with Bessie, then to soothe her, till at last, find- 
ing all in vain, she thought bed the only place 
for the child, and led her into the house, helped 
her, still shaking with sobs, to undress, and was 
going to see her lie down in the bed which she 
shared with Susan. Elizabeth was still young 
enough to say her prayers aloud. The words 
came out in the middle of choking sobs, not as 
if she were much attending to them. Miss Fos- 
brook knelt down by her as she was going to 
rise, and said in her own words, 

‘ Most merciful God, give unto this Thy 
child, the spirit of content, and the spirit of love, 
that she may bear patiently all the little trials 
that hurt and vex her, and win her way, as Thy 
good soldier and servant. Amen.’ 

Elizabeth held her breath to listen. It was 
new and odd. She did not like to say Amen ; 
she did not know if the governess were not 
taking a liberty. Perhaps it was a new way of 
I telling her she was wrong — Christabel, whom 
she had thought on her side. 

I The bad temper woke up, and would not let 
her ofier a friendly kiss. She hid her face in 
i the pillow, and as soon as Miss Fosbrook had 
i shut the door, went off into a fresh gust of 
piteous sobs, because Miss Elizabeth Merrifield 
was the most miserable, ill-used child in all the 
world. 

She might be one of the most miserable, but 
it was not because of her ill-usage, but because 


64 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


she had no spirit to he cheerful, and had turned 
away from cdmfort of the right kind. She was 
in such a frame as to prefer thinking every one 
against her, to supposing that anything she 
could do w'ould mend matters. 

Christahel was much grieved at this unfortu- 
nate end to the Sunday evening. She looked 
over all the boys’ birds’ eggs — they were al- 
lowed to keep two of every sort as curiosities — 
and listened to some wonderful stories of Hen- 
ry’s about climbing trees, and shooting par- 
tridges, and she kept the remaining children 
quiet and amused ; but she was not happy in 
her mind. 

She thought she must have been wrong in 
not watching them more closely, and she felt 
more dislike and indignation against Johnnie, 
than she feared was altogether right in ^is gov- 
erness. Also, she feared to make too much of 
Elizabeth, and was almost afraid that notice 
taught her to be still more fretful. And yet 
there was a sense of being drawn to her by 
their two minds understanding each other, by 
likeness of tastes, by pity, and by a wish to 
protect one whom her little world oppressed. 

Nurse Ereeinan could not be more afraid 
of Miss Fosbrook making favourites, than she 
was herself. 

All she could do in the matter was that 
which she had already done at Bessie’s bedside, 
and much more fully than when the little girl 
was listening to her. 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


65 


CHAPTER V. 

With Monday morning began the earning of 
the pig. Miss Fosbrook’s first business after 
prayers was to deal out the week’s allowance — 
sixpence to each of the four elders, threepence 
apiece to the three younger ones. 

‘ May there be no fines,’ she said. 

‘ ril not have the hundredth part of a fine ! * 
shouted Henry, tossing his money into the air. 

Little David’s set lips expressed the same 
purpose. 

‘ Please let me have a whole sixpence,’ said 
Susan. ‘ If I haven’t any change, I shan’t 
spend it.’ 

‘ You, Sukey ; you’d better have the four 
farthings,’ laughed Sam. ‘ You’ll be the first to 
want them.’ 

Susan laughed, and Miss Fosbrook, partly 
as an example to the plaintive Elizabeth, said, 
‘ You are so good-humoured, Susie, that I can’t 
find it in my heart to demand a fine — or — your 
hair ; and there,’ pointing to the stout red 
fingers, ‘ Did you ever behold such a black little 
row ? ’ 

‘ Oh, dear ! ’ cried Susan, in her good- 
humoured hearty voice, ‘how tiresome, when 
they were so clean this morning, and I’ve only 
just been feeding the chicken, and up in the 
hay-loft for the eggs, and pulling the radishes ! * 

‘ Well, go and wash and brush, and to- 
morrow remember the pig,’ said Miss Fosbrook, 


66 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


unable to help comparing the radishes and the 
fingers for redness and for earthiness. 

It was a more diflScult matter when, as Eliz- 
abeth put her silver coin into her purse, John 
must needs repeat the stupid old joke, ‘ There 
goes stingy Bet and Bessie put on. her woeful 
appealing face. 

‘John, I shall punish you if I hear those 
words again.’ 

‘ I don’t mind. Nurse says you have no 
business to punish me ! She did not put me to 
bed ; and I had such fun ! O such fun ! ’ and 
the boy looked up with a grin that set all the 
others laughing. 

Christabel resolutely kept silence, and hoped 
her looks did not show her annoyance, as the 
boy went on, ‘ I got lots of goodies, for nurse 
said she had no notion of no stranger punishing 
her children. Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! ’ For Samuel had 
hold of his ear, and was tweaking it sharply. 

‘ There ! Go and tell nurse, if you like, 
baby!’ 

‘ Sam, indeed I can’t have my battles fought 
in that way I ’ cried the governess, much dis- 
tressed, as Johnnie roared, perhaps that old 
nurse might hear, and, to all attempts to find 
out whether he were hurt, offered only heels and 
fists, till Susan came back and hugged him into 
quiet. 

‘ Now J ohnnie has cried before breakfast on 
a Monday morning,’ said Annie, ‘ all the rest of 
the week will go wrong with him.’ 

‘ Indeed,’ said Miss Fosbrook ; ‘ I hope no- 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


67 


such thing. Suppose we try and show Annie 
she is wrong, Johnnie ! ’ 

But Johnnie was sulky, and even Susan 
looked as if she thought this a new and danger- 
ous notion. Sam laughed, and said, ‘I wish you 
joy, Miss^Fosbrook. Now he’ll think he must 
be naughty.’ 

* Johnnie,’ said David solemnly, ‘ the pig.’ 

The pig was a very good master of the cer- 
emonies, and kept all elbows off the table at 
breakfast time, and Bessie, who was apt to stick 
fast in the midst of her bread and milk, and fall 
into disgrace for daintiness and dawdling, finished 
off quietly and prosperously. 

Then every one was turned loose till nine 
o’clock, Susan had charge of mamma’s keys, 
and had to go down to the kitchen — see what 
the cook wanted, and put it out, but only on 
condition that no brother or sister ever went 
with her to the store-closet. Susan was highly 
trustworthy, but mamma was too wise to let 
her be tempted by voices begging for one plum, 
one almond, or the last spoonful of jam. It 
tooTc away a great deal of the pleasure of jingling 
the keys, and having a voice in choosing the 
pudding. 

The two elder boys went to their tutor, the 
other children to the nursery, except Elizabeth, 
who was rummaging in her little box, and 
David, whom Miss Fosbrook found perched on 
the ledge of the window reading a book that did 
not look as if it were meant for men of his size. 

But Miss Fosbrook thought David like the 


68 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


oldest person in the house — infinitely older than 
John, who could do nothing better than he, ex- 
cept running and bawling, and a good deal older 
than even Hal and Sam. Nay, there were times 
when he raised his steady eyes and slowly spoke 
out his thoughts, when she felt as if he were 
much more wise and serious than her twenty 
years old self. 

‘ W ell, Davy,’ she asked, as at the sound of 
the lesson-bell the little old man uncrossed his 
sturdy legs, closed his books, and arose with a 
sigh, ‘ have you found out all about it ? ’ 

‘ I have found out why a pig is a profitable 
investment,’ he answered gravely. 

‘ And why ? ’ 

‘ Because he will feed upon refuse, and fatten 
upon cheap food,’ said David in the words of his 
book ; ^ only I can’t make out why. Do you 
know, Miss Fosbrook 1 ’ 

‘ I don’t quite see what you want to know, 
Davy.’ 

, ‘ I want to know why a pig gets fat on 

barley-meal, when an ox wants mangel, and oil- 
cake, and hay. I asked nurse, and she said little 
boys musn’t ask questions ; and I asked Purday, 
and he said it was because pigs is pigs, and oxen 
is oxen. Why do you think it is. Miss Fos- 
brook ? ’ 

‘ I don’t think ; I know it is because the 
great God has made one sort of creature to be 
easily fed, and made good for poor people to 
live upon,’ said Miss Fosbrook. 

David’s eyes were fixed on her as if he still 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


69 


had questions to ask, and she was quite afraid of 
her powers of answering them, for he was new 
in the world, and saw the strangeness of many 
things to which older people become used by 
living with them, but which are not the less 
strange for all that. 

However, the trampling of many feet put an 
end to question and answer, and the day's work 
had to begin with the Psalms, and reading the 
morning lessons. Bessie was by far the best 
reader, and David did very well, though he 
made very long stops to look deliberately at 
any long new word, and could not bear to be 
told before he had mastered it for himself. 
Even Susan was sadly given to gabbling and 
missing the little words that she thought be- 
neath her attention ; and the other two stumbled 
so horribly, that it was pain to hear them. 

This beginning might be taken as the sign of 
how all would do their lessons. It is only a 
child here and there, generally a lonely one, to 
whom lessons can be anything but a toil and an 
obligation. Even with clever ones, who may 
be interested in some part of their study, some 
other branch will be disagreeable, and there is 
nothing in the whole world to be learnt without 
drudgery, so it would be unreasonable to expect 
lessons to be regarded as delightful ; but there 
is one thing that is to be expected of any good 
child ; not to enjoy lessons ; not to surpass 
others ; not to do anything surprising ; only to 
make a conscience of doing what is required as 
well as possible. 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


ro 


Now do not many children seem to think 
that they are to receive as little as they can 
possibly take in without being punished ; or, 
that if they make any exertion, their teachers 
ought to be so much obliged to them, that some 
great praise or reward is due to them 1 

Let us see whether any one in Stokesley 
school-room was making a conscience of the 
day’s tasks. It is not of much use to ask for 
any at present in Johnnie — not for a whole 
week, as Annie would declare; he does not 
know his single Latin declension ; his spelling 
is all abroad ; his geography wild ; yet though 
turned back once, he misses the fine by just say- 
ing his lessons passably the last time. They 
perhaps ought, in strict justice, to have been 
sent back, but Miss Fosbrook was very glad to 
be saved the uproar that would have ensued, 
and almost wondered whether she were not 
timidly merciful to the horrible copy and the 
greasy slate. But Johnnie had no fine, and was 
as proud of it as if he had been a good boy. 
‘ She hadn’t caught him out,’ he said, as if his 
kind governess had been his enemy. 

As to Annie, her French verbs were always 
dreadful things to hear, and the little merry 
face, usually so bright, used to grow quite de- 
plorable with the trouble she took not to use 
her mind. Using her memory was bad enough, 
but saying things by heart was an affliction she 
was used to, and it was very shocking of Miss 
Fosbrook to require her to find out how to find 
out how many years Richard II. had reigned, if 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


'71 


he began in 1377 and ended in 1399. Susan 
prompted her, however ; so she really got a 
triumph over Miss Fosbrook, and was quite 
saved from thinking. Oh, but the teazing 
woman ! she silenced Susan, and would have 
this poor injured Annie tell how old the tire- 
some man was. ‘ Began to reign at eleven years 
old, dethroned after twenty -two years ; how old 
was he 1 ’ Annie found bursting out crying 
easier than thinking, and then they all cried out, 
‘ O Nanny, the pig ! ’ and Miss Fosbrook had 
the barbarity to call that foolish crying ! What 
might one cry for, if not at being asked how old 
Richard 11. was ? If the fine must be paid, there 
was no use in stopping ; so Annie howled till 
Miss Fosbrook turned her out to finish on the 
stairs ; and as Nurse Freeman was out with the 
little ones, there was no one to comfort her ; so 
she cried till she was tired, and when the noise 
ceased, Susan was allowed to come and coax her, 
and fetch her back to go on with her copy, as 
soon as her hand was steady enough. She felt 
very foolish by this time, and thought David 
eyed her rather angrily and contemptuously ; so 
she crept quietly to her corner, and felt sad and 
low-spirited all the rest of the morning. Now 
that thirty-three had come into her head, it 
seemed so stupid not to have thought of it in 
time ; and then she would have saved her far- 
thing, and her eyes would not have been so hot. 

Maybe, too, Susan’s French phrases would 
not have been turned back. Miss Fosbrook 
would have given a great deal not to have been 


V2 THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 

obliged to do it, but she had prompted flagrantly 
already, and a teacher is obliged to have a con- 
science quite as much as a scholar ; so the book 
was given back, and Susan spent twelve minutes 
in see-sawing herself, and going over the sen- 
tences in a rapid whispering gabble, a serious 
worry to the governess in listening to Bessie’s 
practising and David’s reading, but she thought 
it would be a hardship to be forbidden to learn 
in her own way at that moment, and forbore. 
David was interrupted in his ‘ Little Arthur’s 
History,’ and looked rather cross about it, for 
Susan to try again. She made all the same 
blunders — and more, too ! Back again^! Poor 
Susie ! Once, twice, thrice, has she read those 
stupid words over, and knows less of them than 
before. Davy’s loud voice will go into her un- 
derstanding instead of those French phrases. 
She looks up in dull stupefaction. 

William Rufus is disposed of, and David, as 
grave as a judge, is taking up his slate, looking 
a little fussed because there is a scratch in the 
corner. ‘ Well, Susan,’ says Miss Fosbrook. 

Susan jumps up in desperation, and puts her 
hands behind her. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! all that 
the gentlemen on a journey were saying to one 
another has gone clean out of her head ! She 
cannot recollect the three first words. She only 
remembers that this is the third time ; and 
another farthing is gone ! She stands and 
stares. 

‘ Susan,’ says Miss Fosbrook severely, ‘ you 
never tried to learn this.’ 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


73 


Susan gives a little gasp; and Elizabeth, 
who has said her French without a blunder, puts 
in an unnecessary and not very sisterly word : 
* Susan never will learn her French.’ 

Susan’s honest eyes fill with tears, but she 
gulps them back. She will not cry away an- 
other farthing, but she does feel it very cross in 
Bessie, and she is universally miserable. 

Christabel feels heated, wearied, and pro- 
voked, and as if she were fast losing her own 
temper ; and that made her resolve on mercy. 

‘ Susie,’ she said, with an effort, ‘ run twice 
to the great lime-tree and back. Then take the 
book into my room, read this over three times, 
and we will try again.’ 

Susan looked surprised, but she obeyed, 
came back, and repeated the phrases better than 
she had ever said French before. She was ab- 
solutely surprised and highly pleased, and she 
finished off her other lessons swimmingly ; but 
oh, she was glad to be rid of them ! Yes, they 
were off her mind, and so she deserved that they 
should be ! She flew away to the nursery, and 
little Sarah was soon crowing in her arms. 

Elizabeth ? Not a blunder in French verbs 
or geography — very tidy copy. French read- 
ing good ; English equally so, only it ended in 
a pout, because there was not time for her to go 
on to see what became of Carthage ; and she 
was a most intolerable time in learning her 
poetry out of the book of Readings, or rather 
she much preferred reading the verses in other 
parts of the book to getting perfect in her les* 
5 


*74 THE ST0K:ESLET 6ECEET. 

son, and then being obliged to turn her mind to 
Arithmetic. Miss Fosbrook called her three 
times ; and at last she turned round peevishly 
at being interrupted in the middle of the Friar 
of Orders Gray, and repeated her twenty lines 
of Cowper’s Winter’s Walk in a doleful whine, 
though without a blunder. 

It was one of the horrible novelties that Miss 
Fosbrook was bringing in, that she expected 
people to understand their sums as well as work 
them. She gave much shorter ones, to be sure, 
than mamma, who did sometimes set a long 
multiplication sum of such a huge size, that it 
looked as if it were meant to keep the victim 
out of the way ; but who would not prefer cast* 
ing up any length of figures, to being required 
to explain the meaning of * carrying ? ’ 

Eeally, if it had not been for the pig, that 
shocking question might have led to a mutiny in 
the school-room. When it w^as bad enough to 
do the thing, how could any one ask what was 
meant by the operation, and why it was per* 
formed ? 

What did Bessie do wFen her sum w^as 
being overlooked ? Miss Fosbrook read on, ‘ 4 
from 8, 4 ; 7 from 1 — how’s this, Bessie ? ' 
from 10 are-—’ 

‘ 3 and 1 are 4,’ dolorously, as her 3 was 
changed. 

‘ Now then, what next 1 ’ 

‘ Carry one.’ 

‘ What did 1 tell you was meant by carry 
onel ’ 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


n 

‘ The tens,’ said Bessie, not in the least think- 
ing ‘ the tens ’ had anything to do with the mat- 
ter, but only that she had heard something 
about them, and could thus get rid of the subject. 

‘ Now, Bessie, what tens can you possibly 
mean 1 Think a little.’ 

‘ I’m sure you said tens once,’ said injured 
innocence. 

‘ That was in an addition sum. See, here it 
is quite different. I told you.’ 

Bessie put on a vacant stare. She was not 
going to attend to what she did not like. 

Miss Fosbrook saw the face. She absolutely 
shrank from provoking another fit of cryingj 
and went quickly through the explanation. She 
saw that her words might as well have been 
spoken to the slate. Bessie neither listened nor 
took them in. Not all her love for her dear 
Christabel Angela could stir her up to make 
one effort contrary to her inclinations. The 
slate was given back to her, she w iped out the 
sum in a pet, and ran away. 

Miss Fosbrook turned round. David, whose 
lessons had been perfectly repeated an hour ago, 
was sitting cross-legged in the window, with his 
slate and pencil and a basket of bricks, his great 
delight, which he was placing in rows. 

‘ Miss Fosbrook,’ said he, * isn’t this it ? 
Twelve bricks ; take away those seven, then — 
1, 2, 3, 4, 5 — the 12 is only 5 — the 10 is gone, 
isn’t it ? so you must leave one out of the next 
figure in the upper line of the sum.’ 

Now Davy had only began Arithmetic on 


76 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


the governess’s arrival, but he had learnt numer- 
ation and addition in her way. She was so de- 
lighted, that she stooped down and kissed him, 
saying, ‘ Quite right, my little man.’ 

Davy rather disapproved of the kiss, and 
rubbed his brown-holland elbow over his face, 
as if to clear it off. 

‘Well,’ thought Christabel, as she hurried 
away for five minutes’ peace in her own room 
before the dinner-bell, ‘it is a comfort to have 
one pupil whose whole endeavor is not to frus- 
trate one’s attempts to educate him.’ 

Poor young thing ! that one little bit of 
sense had quite cheered her up. Otherwise she 
was not one whit less weary than the children. 
She had been learning a very tough lesson, too, 
much harder than any of theirs ; and she was 
not at all certain that she had learnt it right. 

Now, readers, of all the children, who do 
you think had used the most conscience at the 
lessons ? 


CHAPTER VI. 

What an entirely different set of beings were 
those Stokesley children in lesson-time and out 
of it ! Talk of the change of an old thorn in 
winter to a May-bush in spring ! that was noth- 
ing to it ! 

Poor, listless, stolid, deplorable logs, with 
bowed backs and crossed ancles, pipy voices, 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


77 


and heavy eyes ! Who would believe that these 
were the merry, capering, noisy creatures, full 
of fun and riot, clattering, and screeching, and 
dancing about with ecstacy at Sam’s informa- 
tion that there was a bonfire by the potato- 
house ? 

* A bonfire ! ’ said the London governess, 
thinking of illuminations ; ‘ what can that be 
for?’ 

‘ Oh, it is not for anything,’ said Susan ; ‘ it 
is Purday burning weeds. Don’t you smell 
them ? How nice they are ! I was afraid it 
was only Farmer Smith burning couch.’ 

All the noses were elevated to scent from 
afar a certain smoky odour, usually to be de- 
tected in July breezes, and which reminded Miss 
Fosbrook of a brick-field. 

‘ Potatoes ! potatoes ! We’ll roast some 
potatoes, and have them for tea ! ’ bellowed all 
the voices; so that Miss Fosbrook could hardly 
find a space for very unwillingly saying, 

‘ But, my dears, I don’t know whether 1 
ought to let you play with fire.’ 

‘ O we always do,’ roared the children ; and 
Susan added, 

‘We always roast potatoes when there’s a 
bonfire. Mamma always lets us; it is only 
Purday that is cross.’ 

‘ Yes, yes ; mamma let’s us.’ 

‘ Well, if Sam and Susan say it is right, I 
trust to them,’ said Miss Fosbrook gladly ; 
‘ only you must let me come out and see what 
it is. I am too much of a Londoner to knowj 


78 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


‘ O yes ; and we’ll roast you some potatoes.’ 

So the uproarious population tumbled up 
stairs, there to be invested with rougher brown- 
holland garments than those that already con- 
cealed the sprigged cottons of the girls ; and 
when the five came down again, they were so 
much alike in dress, that it was not easy to tell 
girls from boys. Susan brought little George 
down with her, and off the party set, Sam and 
Hal, who had been waiting in the hall, took Miss 
Fosbrook between them, as if they thought it 
their duty to do the honours of the bonfire, and 
conducted her across the garden, through the 
kitchen garden, across which lay a long slug- 
gish bar of heavy and very odorous smoke, to 
a gate in a quick-set hedge. Here were some 
sheds and cart-houses, a faggot pile, various logs 
of timber, a grind-stone, and that towards which 
all the eight children rushed with whoops of 
ecstacy — a, heap of smoking rubbish, chiefly dry 
leaves, and peas and potato haulm, with a large 
allowance of cabbage stumps — all extremely 
earthy, and looking as if the smouldering smoke 
were a wonder from so mere a heap of dirt. 

No matter ! There were all the children 
round it, some on their knees, some jumping ; 
and voices were crying on all sides, ^ O jolly, 
jolly ! ’ ‘ I’ll get some potatoes ! ’ ‘ Oh, you 

must have some sticks first, and make some 
ashes.’ ‘ There’s no flame ; not a bit ! ’ ‘ Get 

out of the way, can’t you ; I’ll make a hot place.’ 
* We’ll each have our own oven, and roast our 


THE STOKESLEY SEGEET. 79 

own potatoes ! ’ * Don’t, Sam ; you’re pushing 
me into the smoke ! ’ 

This, of course, was from Elizabeth, and 
there followed, ‘ Don’t, Bessie, you will tread 
upon Georgie. Yes, Georgie, you shall have a 
place.’ 

‘ Sticks, sticks ! ’ shouted Henry, while Sam 
was on his knees, poking out a species of cavern 
in the fire, where some symptoms of red embers 
appeared, which he diligently puffed with his 
mouth, feeding it with leaves and smaller chips 
in a very well -practised way. ‘ Sticks, Annie ! 
Johnnie ! Davy ! get sticks, I say, and we’ll 
make an oven.’ 

Annie obeyed, but the two little boys w'ere 
intent on imitating Sam on another side of the 
fire, and Johnnie uttered a gruff iGet ’em your- 
self! ’ while David took no notice at all. 

Perhaps Hal would have betaken himself to 
no gentle means if Susan had not hastily put in 
his way a plentiful supply of dead wood, Avhich 
she had been letting little George think he 
picked up all himself ; and there was keen ex- 
citement, which Christabel could not help shar- 
ing, while under Sam’s breath the red edges of 
the half-burnt chip glowed, flushed, widened, 
then went sparkling doubtfully, slow ly, to the 
light bit of potato-stalk that he held to it, glow- 
ing as he blew' — fading, smoking w'hen he took 
breath. Try again — puff, puff, puff diligently ; 
the fire evidently has a taste for the delicate lit- 
tle shaving that Annie has found for it ; it 
seizes on it ; another — another ; a flame at last. 


80 


THE STOKES LEY SECEET. 


Hurrah ! pile on more ; not too much. ‘ Don’t 
put it out ! ’ Oh, there ! a strong flame comes 
crackling up through those smothering heaps of 
sticks and haulm ; it won’t be kept down ; it 
rises in the wind ; it is a red flaring banner. 
The children shriek in transports of admiration, 
little George loudest of all, because Susan is 
holding him tight, lest he should run into the 
brilliant flame. Miss Fosbrook is rather ap- 
palled, but the children are all safe on the wind- 
W’ard side, and seemed used, to it ; so she sup- 
poses it is all right, and the flame dies down 
faster than it rose. It is again an innocent 
smouldering heap, like a volcano after an erup- 
tion. 

‘ We must not let it blaze again just yet,’ 
said Sam ; ‘ kejep it down well with sticks to 
make some nice white ashes for the potatoes. 
See, I’ll make an oven.’ 

They were all stooping round this precious 
hot corner, some kneeling, some sitting on the 
ground, David with hands on his sturdy knees 
— all intent on nursing that creeping red spark, 
as it smouldered from chip to chip, leaving a 
black trace wherever it went, when through the 
thick smoke, that was like an absolute curtain 
hiding everything on the farther side, came 
headlong a huge bundle of weeds launched over- 
whelmingly on the fire, and falling on the chil- 
dren’s heads in an absolute shower, knocking 
Johnnie down, but on a soft and innocent side 
of the fire among the cabbage stumps, and seem- 
ing likely to bury Sam, who leant over to shelter 



♦ 






« • 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


81 


his precious oven, and puffed away as if nothing 
was happening amid the various shouts around 
him, in which ‘ Purday ’ was the most audible 
word. 

*Ah, so you’ve got at he, after all,’ said 
Purday, leaning on the fork with which he had 
thrown on the weeds. Nothing is safe from 
you.’ 

‘ What, you thought you had a new place, 
Purday, and circumvented us ! ’ cried Hal ; ‘ but 
we smelt you out, you old rogue ! We weren’t 
going to be baulked of our bonfire.’ 

Miss Fosbrook here ventured on asking if 
they were doing mischief; and Purday answered 
with an odd gruff noise, ‘ Mischief enough — ay, 
to be sure — bucking the fire all abroad. It’s 
what they’re always after. I did think I’d got 
it safe out of their way this time.’ 

‘ Then,’ in rather a frightened voice, for she 
felt that it would be a tremendous trial of her 
powers, ‘ should I make them come away ? ’ 

‘ Catch her,’ muttered Hal. 

There were horror and disapprobation on 
Susan’s face. Annie stood with her mouth open, 
while John, throwing himself on the ground 
with fury, rolled over, crying out something 
about, ‘ I won’t,’ and ‘ very cross,’ and David 
lay flat on his face puffing at his own particular 
oven, like a little wind in an old picture. Sam 
waited, leaning on the ashen stick that served 
him as a poker. It was the most audacious 
thing he had ever heard. Rob them of their 
bonfire! Would that old traitor of a Purday 
abet her ? 


82 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


Perhaps Purday was as much astonished as 
the rest ; but, after all, much as the children 
tormented his bonfires, overset his haycocks, 
and disturbed his wood pile, he did not like any 
one to scold them but himself, much less the 
new London lady ; so he made up an odd sort 
of grin, and said, ‘ No, no. Ma’am, it ain’t that 
they do so much harm ; let ’em bide ; ’ and he 
proceeded to shake on the rest of his barrowful, 
tumbling the weeds down over David’s cherished 
oven in utter disregard ; but the children cried 
with one voice, ‘ Hurrah ! hurrah ! Purday, we 
don’t do any harm, so don’t ever grumble 
again. Hurrah ! ’ 

* And I don’t care for her, the cross-patch,’ 
said Johnnie to Annie, never hearing nor heed- 
ing Miss Posbrook’s fervent, ‘ I am so glad ! ’ 

And as long as the foolish boy remembered 
it, he always did believe that Miss Fosbrook 
was so cross as to want to hinder them from 
their bonfire, only Purday would not let her. 

Miss Fosbrook did not trouble herself to be 
understood : she was relieved to have done her 
duty, and be free to rejoice in, and share the 
pleasure. She ran about and collected materials 
for Sam till she was out of breath, and joined in 
all the excitement as the fire showed symptoms 
of reviving, after being apparently crushed out 
by Purday. Sam and Susan, at least, believed 
that she had only spoken to Purday because she 
thought it right ; but even for them to forgive 
interference with their bonfire privileges was a 
great stretch ! 


THE STOKESLEY SECKET. 


83 


At last she thought it time to leave them to 
their own devices, and seize the moment for 
some quiet reading; but she had not reached 
the house before little steps came after her, and 
she saw Elizabeth running fast. 

‘They are so tiresome,’ she said. ‘Sam 
won’t let me stand anywhere but where the 
smoke gets into my eyes, and George plagues 
so ! ,May I come in with you, dear Christabel ? ’ 

‘You are very welcome,’ said Miss Fos- 
brook, ‘ but I am sorry to hear so many com- 
plaints.’ 

‘They are so cross to me,’ said Bessie; 
‘ they always are.’ 

‘ You must try to be cheerful and good- 
humoured with them, and they would leave off 
vexing you.’ 

‘ But may I come in ? It will be a nice time 
for my secret.’ 

Christabel saw little hope for her intended 
reading, but she was always glad of a space for 
making Bessie happy, so she kindly consented 
to the bringing out of the little girl’s treasury, 
and the dismal face grew happy and eager. The 
subjects of the drawings were all clear in her 
head ; that was not the difficulty, but the card- 
board, the ribbon, the real good paints. One 
little slip of card Miss Fosbrook hunted out of 
her portfolio ; she cut a pencil of her own and 
advised the first attempt to be made upon a 
piece of paper. The little bird that Bessie pro- 
duced was really not at all bad, and her per- 
formance was quite fair enough to make it quite 


84 


THE GTOKESLEY SECRET. 


worth while to go on, since Miss Fosbrook 
well knew that mammas are pleased with works 
of their children showing more good-will than 
skill. For why ? Their value is in the love 
and thought they show. 

The little bird was made into a robin with 
the colours in a paint-box that Bessie had long 
ago bought ; but they were so weak and muddy, 
that the result was far from good enough for a 
present, and it was agreed that real paints must 
be procured as well as ribbon. Miss Fosbrook 
offered to commission her sisters to buy the 
Prussian blue, lake, and gamboge, in London, 
and send them in a letter. This was a new idea 
to Bessie, and she was only not quite decided 
between the certainty that London paints must 
be better than country ones, and the desire of 
the walk to Bonchamp to buy some ; but the 
thought that the ribbon, after all, might be pro- 
cured there, satisfied her. The little doleful 
maid was changed into an eager, happy, chatter- 
ing child, full of intelligence and contrivance, 
and showing many pretty fancies, since there 
was no one to teaze her and laugh at her ; and 
her governess listened kindly and helpfully. 

Miss Fosbrook could not help thinking how 
much happier her little companion would have 
been as an only child, or with one sister, and 
parents who would have made the most of her 
love of taste and refinement, instead of the 
hearty, busy parents, and the rude brothers and 
sisters who held .her cheap for being unlike 
themselves. But then she bethought her, that 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


85 


perhaps Bessie might have grown up vain and 
affected had all these tastes been petted and fos- 
tered, and that, perhaps, her little hardships 
might make her the stronger, steadier, more 
useful woman, instead of living in fancies. It 
was the unkindness on one side, and the temper 
on the other, that made Miss Fosbrook uneasy. 

The work had gone on happily for nearly an 
hour, and Bessie was copying a forget-me-not 
off a little painted card-board pincushion of her 
own, when steps were heard, little trotting steps, 
and Susan came in with little George. He had 
been pushed down by Johnnie, and was rather 
in a fretful mood ; and Susan had left all her 
happy play to bring him in to rest and comfort 
him, coming to the schoolroom because Nurse 
Freeman w^as out. Before Elizabeth had time 
to hide away her doings, George had seen the 
bright pincushion, and was holding out his hands 
for it. Bessie hastily pocketed it. George burst 
out crying, and Susan, without more ado, threw 
herself on her sister, and pinioning Bessie’s slight 
arm by the greater strength of her firm one, 
was diving into her pocket in spite of her strug- 
gles. 

‘ Susan, leave off,’ said Miss Fosbrook ; ‘ let 
your sister alone. She has a right to do what 
she likes with her own,’ 

^ It is so cross in her,’ said Susan, obeying 
however, but only to snatch up little George, 
and hug and kiss him. * Poor dear little man ! 
is Betty cross to him ? There ! there ! come 
with Sue, and skeUl get him something pretty.’ 


86 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


‘ Susie, Susie, indeed it’s only that I don^t 
want him to spoil it,’ said Elizabeth, distressed. 

‘ A foolish thing like that ! Why, the only 
use of it is to please the children ; but you are 
just such a baby as he is,’ said Susan, still pity- 
ing George. 

‘ You had better put your things away, Bes- 
sie,’ said Miss Fosbrook, interfering to stop the 
dispute; and as soon as Elizabeth was gone, 
and George a little pacified by an ivory ribbon 
measure out of Miss Fosbrook’s work-box, she 
observed to Susan, ‘ My dear, you must not let 
your love for the little ones make you unjust 
and unkind to Bessie.’ 

‘ She always is so unkind to them,’ said 
Susan resentfully. 

‘ I don’t think she feels unkindly ; but if you 
tyrannize over her, and force her to give way to 
them, you cannot expect her to like it.’ 

‘ Mamma says the elder must give way to 
the younger,’ said Susan. 

‘ You did not try whether she would give 
way.’ 

‘ No, because I knew she wouldn’t ; and I 
could not have my little Georgie vexed.’ 

‘ And I could not see my little Susie violent 
and unjust,’ said Miss Fosbrook cheerfully. ‘ Jus- 
tice first, Susan ; you had no right to rob Bessie 
for George, any more than I should have to give 
away a dinner of your papa’s because he had 
refused a beggar.’ 

‘ Papa never would,’ said Susan, rather going 
off from the point. 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


87 


‘ Very likely ; but do you understand me, 
Susan ? I will not have Bessie forced out of her 
rights for the little ones. Not Bessie only, but 
nobody is to be tyrannized over ; it is not right.’ 

‘ Bessie is so nonsensical,’ was all Susan said, 
looking glum. 

‘ V ery likely she may seem so to you, but 
if you knew more, you would see that all is not 
nonsense that seems so to you. Some people 
would admire her ways.’ 

‘Yes, I know,’ said Susan. ‘ Mrs. Greville 
told Mrs. Brownlow that Bessie was the only 
one among us that was capable of civilization ; 
but Mrs. Greville is a fine lady, and we always 
laugh at her.’ 

‘ And now,’ as Bessie returned, ‘ you "want 
to go out to your play again, my dear. Will 
you leave Georgie with us 1 ’ 

Susan was a little doubtful about trusting her 
darling with any one, especially one who could 
take Bessie’s part against him ; but she wished 
exceedingly to .be present at the interesting 
moment of seeing whether the potatoes were 
done enough, and George was perfectly content- 
ed with measuring everything on the ribbon, so 
she ran quickly off, without the manners to 
thank Miss Fosbrook, but to assure the rest of 
the party that the governess really was very 
good-natured, and that she would save her big- 
gest and best potato for Miss Fosbrook’s tea. 

Christabel managed very happily with little 
George, though not quite without offending Eliza- 
beth, who thought it very hard to be desired to 


88 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


put away her painting instead of tantalizing her 
little brother with the sight of what he must 
not have. Miss Fosbrook could not draw her 
into the merry game with little George, which 
made his shouts of glee ring out through the 
house, and meet Nurse Freeman’s ear as she 
came in doors with the baby, and calling at the 
school- room door, summoned him off to his tea, 
as if she were in a pet with Miss Fosbrook for 
daring to meddle with one of her own nursery 
children. 

Nothing more was heard of the others, and 
Christabel and Elizabeth both read in peace 
till the tea bell rang, and they went down and 
waited and waited, till Miss Fosbrook accepted 
Bessie’s offer of going out to call the rest. But 
Bessie returned no more than the rest ; and the 
governess set forth herself, but had not made 
many steps before the voices of the rabble rout 
were heard, and they all were dancing and clat- 
tering about her, while Susan and Hal each car- 
ried aloft a plate containing articles once brown, 
now black and thickly powdered with white 
ashes, as were the children themselves up to 
their very hair. 

As a slight concession to grown-up people’s 
prejudices, they did, at the risk of their dear 
potatoes getting cold, scamper up to perform a 
species of toilette, and then sat down round the 
tea-table, Susie, David, and Sam, each vociferous 
that Miss Fosbrook should eat ‘my potato that 
I did on purpose for her.’ Poor Miss Fosbrook ! 
she would nearly as soon have eaten the bonfire 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


89 


itself, as those cinder-coated things, tough as 
leather outside, and within like solid smoke. 
Indeed the children, who had been bathing in 
smoke all day, had brought in the air of it with 
them ; but their tongues ran fast on their adven- 
tures, and their taste had no doubt that their 
own bonfire potatoes were the most perfect cook- 
ery in art ! Miss Fosbrook picked out the most 
eatable bits of each of the three, and managed 
to satisfy the three cooks, all zealous for their 
own. Other people’s potatoes might be smoky, 
but each one’s own was delicious, ‘ quite worthy 
of the pig when he was bought,’ thought Miss 
Fosbrook ; but she made her real pleasure at the 
kind feeling to cover her dislike of the black 
potatoes, and thus pleased the children without 
being untrue. 

‘ Line upon line, precept upon precept ; here 
a little, and there a little.’ That is the way 
habits are formed and characters made ; not all 
at once. So there had been an opportunity for 
Susan to grow confirmed in her kindness and 
unselfishness, as well as to learn that tyranny is 
wrong, even on behalf of the weak ; and Bessie, 
if she would take home the lesson, had received 
one in readiness to be cheerful, and to turn from 
her own pursuits to oblige others. Something 
had been attempted toward breaking her habit 
of being fretful, and thinking herself injured. 
It remained to be seen whether the many little 
things that were vet to happen to the two girls 
would be so usea as to strengthen their good 
habits or their bad ones. 


90 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


CHAPTER VIL 

It is not worth while to go on describing every 
day at Stokesley, since lessons were far too much 
alike, and playtimes, though varied enough for 
the house of Merrifield, might be less entertain- 
ing to the readers. 

Enough to say, that by Saturday afternoon, 
John had not only forfeited his last farthing, but 
was charged with another into next week, for 
the poor pleasure of leaving his hat on the 
school-room floor because Elizabeth had told him 
of it. At about four o’clock it set in for rain, 
catching the party at some distance from home, 
so that though they made good speed, the dust 
turned into mud, and clung fast to their shoes. 

David, never the best runner, was only in 
time to catch Johnnie by the skirt upon the 
third step of the staircase, crying out, ‘ The 
pig ! ’ but Johnnie, tired of the subject and in a 
provoking mood, twitched away his pinafore, 
crying, ‘ Bother the pig ! ’ and rushed up after 
the four who had preceded him, leaving such 
lumps of dirt on the edge of every step, that 
when Miss Fosbrook came after with Elizabeth, 
she could not but declare that a shower was a 
costly article. 

‘ You see,’ observed Susan, ‘ when it’s such 
fine weather, it puts one’s feet out of one’s 
head.’ 

While Sam, Henry, and Bessie were laugh- 
ing at Susan for this speech, little George trotted 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 9t 

in, crying out, ‘ Halty man come, Halty man 
come ; Georgie want sweetie ! ’ 

‘ The Gibraltar man ! ’ cried John and Annie 
with one voice, and they were at the bottom of 
the stairs with a bound. 

‘ 0 send him away, send him away. They’ll 
spend all their money, and there will be none 
left,’ was David’s cry ; while George kept drag- 
ging his eldest sister’s frock, with entreaties of 
‘ Susie, Susie, come.’ 

‘ They call him the Gibraltar man, because 
he sells Gibraltar rock and gingerbread, and all 
those things,’ said Henry in explanation. ‘ We 
have always dealt with him ; and he is very de-- 
serving ; and his wife makes it all, at least I 
know she makes ginger-beer, so we must en- 
courage him.’ 

So Henry hastened down stairs to encourage 
the Gibraltar man ; and Susan saying soothingly, 
‘ Yes, yes, Georgie ; never mind, Davie, we’ll 
make up for it ; I can’t vex him,’ had taken the 
little fellow in her arms and followed. 

‘ Pigs enough here without sending to the 
fair,’ muttered Sam. 

‘ Please Sam, please Miss Fosbrook, send the 
Gibraltar rhan away, and don’t let him come,’ 
cried David quite passionately. ‘ Nasty man ! 
he will come every Saturday, and they’ll always 
spend all their money.’ 

‘ But, my friend,’ said Miss Fosbrook good- 
humouredly, ‘ suppose we have no right to banish 
the Gibraltar man 1 * 


P2 THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 

I don’t want him,’ said Bessie ; ‘ it makes 
my fingers sticky.’ 

‘You’re no good,’ said David vehemently. 
‘ I don’t like yon, and I hate the Gibraltar man, 
taking away all our money from poor Hannah.* 

‘ Gently, gently, Davie ; nobody makes you 
spend your money ; and perhaps the poor man 
has children of his own, who want food as much 
as Hannah’s do.* 

‘ Then can’t they eat the Gibraltar rock and 
bulls’ eyes ? ’ 

Sam suggested that this diet would make 
them sick, to which poor little earnest David an- 
swered, that when once the pig was bought, he 
would give all his money for a whole month to 
the Gibraltar man, if he would not come for the 
next four weeks. 

And Christabel thought of what she had 
once read, that people would often gladly put 
away from their children or friends the very 
trials that are sent by Heaven to prove and 
strengthen their will and power of resisting self- 
indulgence. Before she had quite thought it 
out, the quick steps were back again, and Sam 
greeted the entrance of John thus: ‘Well, if 
that isn’t a shame ! Have you been and done 
Sukey out of all that. Jack ? ’ 

‘ It was only three bulls’ eyes,* said Susan, 
following. ‘ You know he had nothing of his 
own, and it was so hard, and Annie gave him 
some.* 

‘ And nurse some,* added Hal. ‘ Trust 
Jackie for taking care of himself.* Well he 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


93 


might say so, considering how full were John’s 
mouth, hands, and pockets. 

‘ And Davie has had nothing ! ’ said kind 
Susan. ‘ Here, Davie ! ’ holding out to him an 
amber-like piece of barley-sugar. 

‘ I don’t want your stuff,’ said David roughly. 
* You’ve spent all away from the pig.’ 

‘No, Davie, indeed, only twopence,’ said 
Susan ; ‘ pray have a bit.’ 

‘ You might at least say thank you,’ said 
Miss Fosbrook. 

But how difficult is that middle road which 
is the only right one ! David being too much 
set on one single purpose, good though it was, 
could see nothing else. It was right and gener- 
ous to abstain from sweets with this end in view ; 
but it was wrong to be rude and unthankful to 
the sister who meant all so kindly, and was the 
most unselfish of all. She turned round to 
Elizabeth with the kind offer of the dainty she 
had not even tasted herself, but was not more 
graciously treated. 

‘ How can you, Susie ? it is all pulled about 
with your fingers.’ 

This was a matter on which the Misses and 
Masters Merri field w^ere not wont to be particu- 
lar ; and with one of the teazing laughs that 
Bessie hated, Sam exclaimed as Susan turned 
to him, ‘ Yes, thank you, Sukey, I don’t mind 
finger sauce,’ but not before John was stretching 
out a hand glazed with sugar, and calling out, 
‘ O give it to me 1 ’ and as it disappeared in his 


94 


THij STOKESLET SECRET. 


brother's mouth, he burst out angrily, * How 
cross, Sam ! You did that on purpose ! ’ 

‘ Yes,’ said Sam, ‘ 1 did ; for though pigs on 
four legs are all very well, I don’t like pigs on 
two.’ 

‘ Here, Jackie, never mind,’ said Susan, see- 
ing him about to begin to cry, and offering him 
her last sugar-plum. 

‘ I don’t want sugar-plums, I want barley- 
sugar,’ said John, devouring it nevertheless* 

‘ I haven’t one bit more,’ said Susan regret- 
fully. 

‘ Have you had any yourself, Susan 1 ’ asked 
Sam. 

‘ No ; but I didn’t want any.’ 

‘ O then here, Susie, I always keep a reserve,’ 
said Henry. ‘ No^ no, not you, Jack, I don’t 
feed little pigs, whatever Susie does*’ 

And in spite of Susan, both the elder broth- 
ers set on John, teazing him about his greedi- 
ness, till he burst out crying, and ran away to 
the nursery. Miss Fosbrook hated the teazing, 
but she thought it served John so rightly, that 
she would not save him from it ; and she only 
interfered to remind the others that their fingers 
would bring them in for fines unless they were 
washed before tea. 

‘ And how much have you spent ? ’ reproach-^ 
fully asked that rigid young judge, David ; but 
all the answer he got was a pull by the hair 
from Hal, and ‘ Hollo, young one ! am I to give 
my accounts to you ? ’ 

David gravely put up his hand, and smoothed 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


95 


his ruffled locks, repeating in his manful way, 
*l want to know what you have left for the 
pigr 

Whereupon Hal laid hold of him, pulled 
him off the locker, and rolled him about on the 
floor like a puppy dog, crying, ‘ I’ll tell you 
what, if you make such a work about it. I’ll 
spend all my allowance, and not subscribe at 
all.’ 

‘ Sam ! ’ cried the tormented David, and 
‘ Sam ! ’ cried the governess, really afraid the 
little boy would be hurt ; but Sam only stood 
laughing with his back to the shutter, and Chris- 
label herself hurried to the rescue, to pick 
Henry off his victim, holding an arm tight, 
while the child got up, and ran away to get his 
hair rebrushed for tea. 

‘ Now, Hal, you might have hurt him,’ ar- 
gued the governess. 

‘Very good thing for him too,’ said the 
brothers with one voice. 

She was very much shocked ; but when she 
thought it over, she perceived that though Hal 
might be to blame, yet in the long run even this 
rough discipline might be more useful to her 
dear little David, than being allowed to take 
upon him with his elder brothers, and grow con- 
ceited and interfering. 

Miss Fosbrook was not surprised when, next 
morning, a frightful bellowing was heard instead 
of Johnnie being seen, and she learned that Mas- 
ter John was in the hands of Nurse Freeman, 
who was administering to him a dose in conse- 


96 


THE STOKESLET SECRET. 


quence of his having been greatly indisposed all 
night. It must be confessed that Christabel was 
not very sorry to hear it, nor that nurse would 
keep him to herself all day ; for bad company 
as Johnnie had been on the week-days, he had 
been worse on the Sunday. 

And when John came out on Monday, ho 
looked like a different boy ; he had lost his 
fractious rebellious look ; he spoke as civilly as 
could be expected of a small Merrifield, and 
showed no signs of being set against his lessons. 
To be sure it was a bad way of spending a Sun- 
day, to be laid up with ailments brought on by 
over-eating; but even this was., better than 
spending it, like the former one, in wilful mis- 
behaviour ; and John, who knew that papa, 
mamma, brothers, and sisters, all alike detested 
and despised real greediness, had been heartily 
ashamed of himself both for this and his forfeits. 
A new week was a new starting-point, and ha 
meant to spend this one well. For indeed it is 
one of the blessings of our lives that we have 
so many stages — days, weeks, years, and the 
like— from each of which we may make fresh 
starts, feel old things left behind, and go on to 
lead a new life. 

Besides, Johnnie was quite well now; and 
perhaps no child, so well brought up, could 
have been so constantly naughty the whole 
week, without some degree of ailment, sus- 
pected neither by himself nor others. For this 
is one of our real troubles, when either young 
or old, that sometimes there is a feel of discom- 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


97 


fort and vexation about us, that without know- 
ing why, makes everything go amiss, causes 
everybody else to appear cross, and all tasks, 
all orders, all misadventures, to become great 
grievances. Grown-up people feel this as well 
as children; but they have gone through it 
often enough to know what is the matter, and 
they have, or ought to have, more self-command. 
But children have yet to learn by experience 
that the outer things are not harder and more 
untoward, so much as that they themselves are 
out of sorts. This is poor comfort; and cer- 
tainly it is dangerous to say to ourselves that 
being poorly is any excuse for letting ourselves 
be cross, or for not doing our best. If Mrs. 
Merrifield had thought so, what miserable lives 
her husband and children would have led ! No, 
the way to use the certain fact that the state of 
our bodies affects our tempers and spirits, is to 
say to ourselves, ‘ Well, if this person or this 
thing do seem disagreeable, or if this work, or 
even this little bit of obedience, be very tire- 
some, perhaps it may really be only a fancy of 
mine, and if J go to it with a good will, I may 
work off the notion ; ’ or, ‘ Perhaps I am cross 
to-day, let me take good care how I answer.’ 
And a little prayer in our hearts will be the 
best help of all. Self-command and goodness 
will not come by nature as we grow up, but we 
must work for them in childhood. 

When the Monday allowances were brought 
out, and the pig’s chance inquired into, David 
alone produced his whole sum, untouched by 
6 


98 THE STOKESLET SECRET. 

forfeiture or waste, and dropped it into ‘ Toby 
Fill-pot.’ Elizabeth had her entire sixpence, 
but a penny had been spent on a letter to 
mamma, and she gave but one to the fund, in 
spite of the black looks she met from David. 
Sam had lost a farthing by the shower, and had 
likewise bought a queen’s head, to WTite to his 
father. The rest, fourpence three farthings 
he paid over. Poor Johnnie ! his last week’s 
naughtiness had exceeded his power of paying 
fines, and a halfpenny w^as subtracted from this 
week’s threepence ; while the Gibraltar man 
had consumed all that fines had spared to little 
Annie, had left Susan only threepence, and 
Henry but twopence halfpenny. This, with 
twopence that Miss Fosbrook had found in her 
travelling-bag, made one shilling and fourpence 
farthing ; a very poor collection for one week. 
David was quite melancholy. 

‘ Never mind,’ said Henry ; ‘ Mr. Carey’s 
brother, the colonel, is coming to stay here the 
last week in July, and he gives us boys half-a- 
sovereign each, so we might buy a stunning pig 
all ourselves twice over.’ 

‘ Always ! He never did so but once,’ said 
Sam. 

‘ That was the only time he saw us, though,’ 
said Hal, ‘ and we w^ere quite little boys then. 
I’ll tell you vFat, Sam, he’ll give us each a sov- 
ereign this time, and then I’ll buy a bow and 
arrows.’ 

‘ Stuff,’ said Sam ; ‘ I hope he won’t.’ 

‘ Why not 1 ’ 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


99 


‘ I hate it ! I hate saying thank you ; I shall 
get out of the way if I can.’ 

* Sam has no manners,’ said Hal, turning 
round to Miss Fosbrook. ‘ To think that he 
had rather go without a sovereign or two, than 
say thank you ! ’ 

‘ Fm too much of a gentleman to lay myself 
out for presents,’ retorted Samuel ; and the two 
boys fell on each other, buffeting one another, 
all in good part on Sam’s side, though there 
was some temper and annoyance on Henry’s. 

When Sam was out of hearing, Hal dis- 
coursed very grandly on the sovereign he in^ 
tended Colonel Carey to give him, and the 
prodigious things he meant to do with it. A 
gentleman once gave Osmond Greville two 
sovereigns ; why should not Colonel Carey be 
equally liberal % And to hear the boy, those 
two sovereigns would buy everything in the 
world, from the pig to a double-barrelled gun. 
David began to grow hurt, and to fear the Toby 
fund would be lost in this magnificence ; but 
Hal assured him that it would be a help, and 
they should all have a share in the pig, prom- 
ising presents to everybody, which Susan and 
Annie expected with the more certainty that 
Sam was never present to laugh down these fine 
projects. 

Indeed Miss Fosbrook had laughed at them 
once or twice, and observed that she thought 
money earned or spared a better thing than 
money given, and. this caused Hal to cease to. 
try to dazzle her, though he could not give up 


100 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


the pleasure of regaling his sisters in private 
with the wonders to be done with Colonel 
Carey’s possible sovereigns. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The second week was prosperous ; the treasury 
made progress, and Christabel began to feel as 
if her pupils were not beyond her management, 
as at first she had feared. Collectively they 
were less uncouth and bearish, not so noisy at 
their meals, nor so needlessly rude to one an- 
other ; and the habit of teazing Elizabeth when- 
ever there was nothing else to do, was greatly 
lessened. Indeed Sam did not plague her him- 
self, nor let his brothers do so, unless she tempt- 
ed him by some very foolish whine or bit of 
finery ; and in such cases a little friendly mer- 
riment is a sound cure, very unlike the hateful 
fault of tormenting for tormenting’s sake. 

Nor did Elizabeth give nearly so much cause 
for their rough laughter, since Miss Fosbrook 
had given wholesome food to her tastes and 
likings, partly satisfying the longing for variety, 
beauty, or interest, which had made her discon- 
tented and restless. Her head was full of her 
secret, and her pretty plans for her gift. Such 
lovely drawings she saw in her mind’s eye, such 
fairies, such delightful ships, kittens, babies in 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


101 


the cradle ! But when the pencil was in her 
hand, the lines went all ways but the right ; her 
fairy was a grimy little object, whose second 
wing could never be put on ; the ships were 
saucers ; the kitten might have been the pig ; 
the baby was an owl in an ivy-bush ; and to 
look at the live baby in the cradle only puzzled 
her the more. Miss Fosbrook gave her real 
drawing-lessons, but boxes, palings, and tumble- 
down sheds, done with a broad black pencil, did 
not seem to help her to what she wished. Yet 
sometimes her fingers produced what surprised 
and pleased herself and Christabel ; and she 
never was happier than when safely shut into 
Miss Fosbrook’s bed-room with her card and her 
paints. She used to bolt herself in with a little 
parade of mystery that made Annie exceedingly 
curious, though the others generally let it alone 
as ‘ Betty’s fancy.’ 

Christabel wanted to learn botany for her 
own pleasure. She found a book which Susan 
and Bessie pronounced to be horridly stupid, 
(indeed Annie called it nasty, and was reproved 
for using such a word,) but when the informa- 
tion in it was minced up small, and brought 
out in a new form, Bessie enjoyed it extremely. 
The whole party were delighted to gather flow- 
ers for Miss Fosbrook, the wetter or the steeper 
places they grew in the better; but the boys 
thought it girlish to know the names, and Susan, 
though liking gardening, did not in the least 
care for the inside of a flower. Elizabeth, how- 
ever, was charmed at the loveliness that was 


102 THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 

pointed out to her, and even Annie, when the 
boys were not at hand, thought it very enter- 
taining to look at petals, stamens, and pistils, 
and to see that a daisy is made up of a host of 
tiny flowers. Both little sisters were having 
their eyes opened to see some of the wonder and 
some of the glory of this earth of ours. It made 
Bessie much less often tired of everything and 
everybody ; though after all there is but one 
spirit that is certain never to he weary or dis- 
satisfied, and into that she had yet to grow. 

Fines were much less frequent ; there were no 
foolish tears ; only one lesson of John’s turned 
hack, two of Annie’s, one of Susan’s ; some un- 
hrushed hair of Susan too — an unlucky mention 
of the raven by Annie in lesson-time — and some 
hooks left about by Sam. Henry’s fines were 
the serious ones ; he had two for incorrect sums, 
one for elbows on the table, three for talking, 
one for not putting his things away ; and be- 
, sides he could not go without a pennyworth of 
string ; and the Grevilles would have laughed at 
him if he had not bought some more marbles. 

But what did that signify when Colonel 
Carey was coming % and a sovereign would buy 
a pig three times over — at least if it was quite 
a little one. Christabel wished the hope of that 
sovereign had never occurred to him, for he 
seemed to think it quite set him free from the 
little self-restraints by which the others were 
earning the pleasure of making the gift ; and 
though be still talked the most about the pig, he 
denied himself the least for it. 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


103 


One evening the boys came in with a great 
piece of news. Their tutor had read in the 
paper that Admiral Penrose was appointed to 
the Eamilies, to take command in the Mediter- 
ranean. He was a great friend of their father, 
and, said the hoys, was most likely to make him 
his flag captain. 

‘ And me a naval cadet,’ said Hal. ‘ He 
said he would when he was here ! ’ 

* One of you, he said,’ put in Susan. 

‘ I know it will be me,’ said Hal. ‘ He 
looked at the rigging of my frigate, and said I 
knew all the ropes quite well ; and he told papa 
he might he proud of such a son.’ 

‘ Oh ! oh ! ’ groaned the aggrieved multitude. 

‘Well — such a family; hut he was looking 
at me ; and I know he will give me the ap- 
pointment ; and I shall sail in his ship — you’ll 
see. And when I get to the Mediterranean, I’ll 
tell you what I’ll do — ^I shall kill a shark all my 
own self.’ 

‘ A shark in the Mediterranean ! ’ 

‘Well, why shouldn’t they get in by the 
Straits of Magellan ? Oh ! is that the other 
place ? Well, never mind — PH shoot the shark.’ 

‘ StuflT, Hal,’ said Sam rather gruffly. 

Hal went off on another tack. ‘Well, at 
least he has set me down by this time ; and 
papa will have me up to London for my outfit.* 

‘ I hope you will have leave, and come and 
see us,* said Annie. 

‘ I’ll try ; hut, you see, I shall he an officer 
on duty, and I dare say Admiral Penrose will 


104 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


hardly he able to spare me ; but I’ll send you 
all presents out of my pay.’ 

‘ You’ll spend all your pay on yourself,’ said 
David. 

‘ Out of my prize-money, then.’ 

‘You can’t get prize-money without a war,’ 
said Elizabeth. 

‘ Oh ! don’t let there be a war ! ’ cried Susan. 

‘Yes, but there is,’ said Harry in a tremen- 
dous tone ; and as Miss Fosbrook held up her 
hands, ‘ at least there was one in the Black Sea ; 
and I know there was a battle in the newspaper 
— at least, Mr. Carey read about Palermo.’ 

‘ I don’t think Garibaldi in Sicily will put 
much prize-money into your pocket, Hal,’ said 
Miss Fosbrook. 

‘ Oh ! but there’s sure to be a war ! and I 
shall get promoted, and be a man before any of 
you. I shall go about, and see condors, and 
lions, and elephants, and wear a sword — at 
least, a dirk — while you are learning Latin and 
Greek at Uncle John’s.’ 

‘ Don’t make such a noise about it,’ said Sam 
crossly. 

‘ I don’t know why you should be the one to 
go,’ said Elizabeth. ‘ Sam is the oldest.’ 

‘ Yes ; but Sam is such a slow coach. Papa 
said I was the only one fit to make a sailor of — 
at least, he said I was smart, and — Hollo 1 Sam, 
I won’t have you kicking my legs.’ 

‘ Don’t keep up such a row, then,’ growled 
Sam; but Hal was in too full swing to be 
reached by slight measures. He pushed his 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


105 


chair back, tucked up his feet like a tailor’s, out 
of reach, and went on : ‘ Then I shall come 
home in my cocked hat, like papa’s — at least, 
my cap — and come and ask for a holiday for you 
all at Uncle John’s.’ 

Uncle John was an under-master at one of 
the great public schools, and the children were 
all a good deal in awe of him. 

‘ Uncle John won’t give one for youj said 
Sam. 

‘ Come, boys, I can’t have this bickering,’ 
said Miss Fosbrook. I can’t see you trying 
which can be most provoking. Stand up. Now, 
David, say grace. There, Annie, finish that bit 
of bread out of doors. Go out, and let us have 
no more of this.’ 

She spoke now with much less fear of not 
being minded; and having seen one of the 
quarrelsome parties safe out of the school-room, 
she went to fetch from her own room a glove 
that wanted mending, and on her return found 
Sam alone there, curled up over his lesson- 
books on the locker, looking so gloomy, that she 
was afraid she had made him sulky, for which 
she would have been very sorry, since she had 
a respect for him. 

^ What is the matter? ’ she asked ; and his 
‘ Nothing ’ did not at all assure her that he was 
in a right mood. She doubted whether to leave 
him alone, but presently thought he looked 
more unhappy than ill-tempered, and ventured 
to speak. ‘ Have you a hard piece to learn ? 
Perhaps I could help you.’ 


106 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


He let her come and look at his book ; but 
to her surprise, he had before him a very easy 
problem in Euclid. 

‘ Indeed, if you only gave your mind to this,’ 
she said, ‘ you would soon make it out.’ 

‘Stupid stuff!’ exclaimed Sam. ‘It is all 
along of that, and the rest of it, that I have got 
to be a land-lubber ! ’ and he threw the book to 
the other end of the room. 

‘ Have you no chance ? ’ said Miss Eosbrook, 
.without taking notice of this rudeness, for she’ 
saw that the boy could hardly contain himself. 

‘ No ! the admiral did take notice of Hal ; 
and one day, when I was'slow at a proposition, 
my father said I was too block-headed to beat 
navigation into, and that Hal is a smart fellow, 
worth two of me. I know he is ! 1 know that 

— only if he would not make such an intolerable 
crowing.’ 

‘ Then you wish it very much.’ 

‘ W ish it ! Of course 1 do. Why, my father 
is a sailor ; and I remember the Fury, and I 
saw the Calliope — his ship that he had in the 
war time. Before I was as big as little George , 
I always thought I should be a sailor. And 
now if papa goes out with Admiral Penrose,' 
and Hal too — oh ! it will be so horrid at home ! ’ 

‘ But can’t you both go ? ’ 

‘ No ; my father said he couldn’t ask to 
have two of us put down, unless perhaps some 
younger one had a chance by-and by. And Hal 
is the sharpest, and does everything better than 
I can when he has a mind. My father says, 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


107 


among so many all can’t choose ; and if this 
place is to be mine, Hal may want to be in the 
navy more than I. Yes, it is all right, and Hal 
must go. But — but — when my father is gone — ’ 
and Sam fairly burst out crying. ‘ I didn’t hardly 
know how different it is with him away till this 
month. I was such a little fellow when he went 
to the Black Sea ; but now — never mind though ! ’ 
and he stamped his foot on the floor. ‘ Papa 
said it, and it must be. Don’t tell the others, 
Miss Fosbrook ; ’ and he resolutely went and 
picked up his Euclid, and began finding the 
place. 

‘ You will do your duty like a man, wher- 
ever you are, Sam,’ said Christabel heartily. 

Sam looked as if he had rather that she had 
not said it, but it w'as comfortable to him for all 
that ; and though she kept farther compliments 
to herself, she could not but think that there was 
no fear but that he would be a man, in the best 
ense of the word, before Hal, when she saw 
him so manfully put his sore grievance out of 
his head, and turn to the present business of 
conquering his lesson. Nor did she hear an- 
other word from him about his disappointment. 

It made her dislike Henry’s boasts more 
than ever, and she used to cut them short as fast 
as she could, till the young chatterer decided that 
she was ‘ cross,’ and reserved all his wonderful 
^ at leasts ’ for his sisters, and his proofs of man- 
liness for the Grevilles. 

The Gibraltar man did not come on Satur- 
day, and Miss Fosbrook had been the saving 


108 


THE STOELESLEY SECRET. 


of several stamps by sending some queer little 
letters in her own to Mrs. Merrifield, so that 
on Monday morning the hoard was increased to 
seven and sixpence ; although between fines and 
‘ couldrCt helps' Henry’s sixpence had melted 
down to a half-penny, which ‘ was not worth 
while.’ 

On this day arrived a servant from the Park, 
bringing a delicate little lilac envelope, stamped 
with a tiny rose, and directed to Miss Merrifield. 
There was another rose on the top of the lilac 
paper, and the writing was in a very neat hand. 

‘ My dear Susan, 

‘ Mamma desires me to say that she hopes you 
and Bessie and Annie will come to dine early to-morrow, 
and play with me, and that Miss Fosbury will come with 
you. She hopes your mamma is better, and would be 
glad to have her address in London. 

‘ I am your affectionate 

‘ Ida Arabella Greville.’ 

‘ Oh ! Miss Fosbrook, may we go % ’ cried 
the girls with sparkling eyes. 

Mrs. Merrifield had written that one or two 
such invitations might be accepted, but she had 
rather it did not happen too often, as visits at 
the Park were unsettling to some of the children. 
So as this was the first, Christabel gladly con- 
sented, rather curious and rather shy on her 
own account. 

Elizabeth begged for the rose, to copy it, 
and as there were no little ones present to seize 
it, she was allowed to have it ; while Susan 
groaned and sighed over the misfortune of hav' 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


109 


ing to write a ^ horrible note ’ just at play -time ; 
and the boys treated it as a sort of insult to the 
whole family, that Jda should have mistaken 
their governess’s name. 

‘ Tell her you won’t go till she has it right,’ 
said Sam ; at which Annie made a vehement 
outcry of ‘No, no ! ’ such as made them all 
laugh at her thinking him in earnest. 

Susan’s note began — 

‘ My dear Ida, 

‘ We shuold — , 

But then perceiving that something was the 
matter with her word, Susan sat and looked at 
it, till at last perceiving that her u and o had 
changed places, she tried putting a top to the u, 
and made it like an a, while the filling up the o 
made it become a blot, such as caught Bessie’s 
eye. 

‘ O Susie, you won’t send such a thing as 
that up to Ida ! ’ 

‘ No, that would be a horrible “ note,” ’ said 
her governess ; and she ruled the lines again. 

‘ Dear me,’ said Susan impatiently ; ‘ can’t 
one send a message up by the man that we’ll all 
come, without this fuss ? ’ 

But Miss Fosbrook said this would be very 
uncivil ; and Susan, groaning, stretched every 
finger till the lines were finished, and began 
again, in her scraggy, round-hand — getting 
safely through the ‘ should,’ and also through 
‘ like to come very much ; ’ but when Miss Fos- 
brook looked up next, she saw that the rest of 
the note consisted of — 

7 


110 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


‘Mamma is at grandmamma’s, No. 12, St., Gro* 

vensor-place. 

‘ I am your affectionate 

‘ Susanna Merrifield.’ 

‘ My dear, I am very sorry.’ 

‘ What ! won’t that do ? ’ sighed Susan, be- 
ginning to get into despair. 

Miss Fosbrook pointed to the word ‘ Gro- 
vensor.’ 

‘ Oh dear ! oh dear ! I thought I had got 
that tiresome word this time. Why can’t it 
put its s’s and n’s into their proper sensible 
places ? ’ cried poor Susan, to whom it was a 
terrible enemy. She used to try them in differ- 
ent places all the way round, in hopes that one 
might at last be right. 

‘ Can’t you remember what I told you, that 
the first Grosvenor was the grand huntsman? 
Orosveneur in French; that would show you 
where to put the s — gros, great.’ 

But Susan never wished to remember any- 
thing French ; and Sam observed that ‘ the man 
deserved to be spelt wrong, if he called himself 
by a French name. Why couldn’t he be con- 
tent to be Mr. Grandhunter ? ’ 

‘ But as he is not, we must spell his name 
right, or Mrs. Greville will be shocked,’ said 
Miss Fosbrook. 

‘Please can’t you scratch it out?’ said the 
disconsolate Susan. 

should not like to send a note with a 
scratch in it. Besides, yours is hardly civil.’ 

‘No, indeed,’ said Elizabeth; ‘don’t you 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


Ill 


know how people answer invitations, Susie? 
I’ll tell you. “ Miss Susanna, and Miss Eliza- 
beth, and Miss Annie Merrifield will be very 
happy to do the honour of dining with — ” Sam, 
why do you laugh at me always ? ’ 

‘ Why, you are telling Ida you will do her 
honour by dining with her.’ 

‘ People always do honour when they dine,’ 
said Elizabeth. ‘ I know they do.’ 

‘They profess to receive the honour, not 
confer it, Bessie,’ said Miss Fosbrook, laughing; 
‘ but I don’t think that is the model for Susie’s 
note. It would be as much too formal, as hers 
was too blunt.’ 

‘ Must I do it again ? ’ said Susan. ‘ I had 
rather not go, if it is to be such a plague.’ 

‘ Indeed, I fear you must, Susie. It is quite 
needful to learn how to write a respectable note, 
really a more difficult thing than writing a long, 
letter. I am sorry for you, but if you were not 
so careless in your letters to mamma, this would 
come more easily to you.’ 

But this time Miss Fosbrook not only ruled 
another sheet, but wrote, in fair large-hand on 
a slate, the words, that Susan might copy them 
without fresh troubles. 

‘ We are much obliged to your mamma for her kind 
invitation, and shall have much pleasure in coming with 
Miss Fosbrook to dine with you and spend the day. I 
am sorry to say that mamma was not quite so well when 

last we heard. Her address is — No. 12, St., Gros* 

venor-place.’ 

Susan thought that here were a very serious 


112 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


number of words, and begged hard for leave to 
leave out her sorrow. Of course she was sorry, 
but what was the use of telling Ida so ? 

Miss Fosbrook thought it looked better, but 
Susan might do as she pleased. 

‘ I wouldn’t say it, then,’ said Sam. ‘ I 
wouldn’t say it, only to look better to Ida.’ 
With which words he and Hal walked off to the 
garden. 

W ould it be believed ? Susan, in her de- 
light at being near the end, forgot the grand 
huntsman, and made the unlucky Place Gro- 
vesnor, and then in her haste to mend it, put her 
finger into the wet ink, and smeared not only 
that word, but all the line above ! 

It was a shame and a wonder that a girl of 
her age should be so incapable of producing a 
creditable note ; and Miss Fosbrook was very 
near scolding her ; but she had pity on the tear- 
ful eyes and weary fingers, and spoke cheerfully. 
‘ There, that was almost the thing. One more 
trial, Susan, and you need never be afraid of 
Ida’s notes again.’ 

If Susan could not write notes, at least she 
was not cross ; and it would be well if many 
who could send off a much better performance 
with far less difficulty, could go to work as pa- 
tiently as she did, without one pettish word to 
Miss Fosbrook, though that lady seemed to poor 
Susie as hard a task-mistress as if she could have 
helped it. This time Miss Fosbrook authorized 
the leaving out of the spending the day, and 
suggested that S. would be enough without the 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


113 


whole Susanna, and she mercifully directed the 
cover to Miss Greville. 

‘ There, my dear, you have worked hard for 
your pleasure,’ she said, as Susan extended each 
hand to its broadest stretch to uncramp them, 
and stretched herself backwards as if she wanted 
to double her head down to her heels. ‘ I shall 
give you a good mark, Susie, as if it had been a 
lesson.’ 

Susan deserved it, for her patient persever- 
ance had been all out of obedience, not in the 
mere desire of having her note admired. In- 
deed, good child, at the best it was a very poor 
affair for a girl of twelve, and Miss Fosbrook 
was ashamed of it when she looked at Ida’s 
lady-like little billet. 

‘ But I wonder,’ said she to herself, ‘ whether 
I shall feel as if I would change my dear stupid 
Susan for Miss Ida ? ’ 

Meanwhile Susan flew screaming and leaping 
out into the garden in a mad tom-boy fashion ; 
but that could well be pardoned, as there were 
only her sisters to see her ; and the pleasure of 
having persevered and done her best was enough 
to make her heart and her limbs dance for mer- 
riment. 

Depend upon it, however wretched and mis- 
erable hard application to what we do not like 
may seem at the moment, it is the only way to 
make play-times really delicious. 


114 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Miss Fosbrook soon knew what Mrs. Merri- 
field meant by saying that visits at the park un- 
settled the children. Susan indeed, though liking 
any thing that shortened lessons by an hour, and 
made a change, was not so fond of being on her 
good behaviour at the park as to be greatly ex- 
alted at the prospect ; but Elizabeth and Annie 
were changed beings. They were constantly 
breaking out with some new variety of wonder. 
They wondered whether they should dine in the 
school-room, or at Mrs. Greville’s luncheon ; 
they wondered if Mr. Greville would speak to 
them ; they wondered whether Eraulein Mun- 
sterthal would be cross ; they wondered if Ida 
still played with dolls; and they looked as if 
they thought themselves wonderful, too, for 
going out for a day ! 

Nay, the wonders were at their tongues’ end 
even when lessons began, and put their farth- 
ings in great peril ; and when they had nothing 
else to wonder at, they wondered wEen it would 
be twelve o’clock, and took no pains to swallow 
enormous yawns. Once over her copy, Eliza- 
beth exclaimed, ‘Now! yes, this is necessary. 
Miss Fosbrook ! May we not wear our white 
frocks ? ’ 

‘ They are not ironed,’ answered Susan. 

‘ Oh, do let me go and tell Mary ! There’s 
lots of time,’ said Bessie, who had lately thought 
it cruel of the clock to point only to half-past 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


115 


ten, and never bethought herself how Mary 
would like to be called off from her scrubbing, 
to iron three white frocks. 

‘Would your mamma wish iti’ asked 
Christabel. 

‘ Oh dear no,’ was Susan’s answ^er ; ‘ we al- 
ways wear clean ones of our every-day frocks. 
Our white ones are only for dinner parties and 
Christmas trees.’ 

Bessie grumbled. ‘ How cross ! 1 hate 

these nasty old spotty cottons ; ’ and Johnnie 
returned to the old story, ‘ Little vain pussy- 
cat.’ 

Up went Miss Fosbrook’s warning pencil, 
she shook her head, and held out her hand for 
two fines. Elizabeth began to gulp and sob. 

‘ Oh don’t, Betty ! ’ cried Susan. ‘ Stop 
while you can. You won’t like going up with 
red eyes. There, I’ll pay your fine, and there’s 
another for my speaking.’ 

‘ No, Susie, that was not foolish speaking, 
but kind words,’ said Miss Fosbrook ; ‘ but no 
more now ; go on, Annie.’ 

But Annie, who was reading a little history 
of St. Paul, would call Cilicia, Cicilia, and when 
told to spell it, she began to cry too decidedly 
for Susan’s good nature to check her tears. 
And not only did Elizabeth’s copy look as if 
she had written it with claws instead of fingers, 
but she was grieving over her spotted cotton, 
instead of really seeking for places in her map. 
Thus the Moselle obstinately hid itself; and she 
absolutely shed tears because^ Miss Fosbrook 


116 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


declared that Frankfort was on the Main. 
For the first time she had her grammar turned 
back upon her hands. How many mistakes 
Annie made would be really past telling ; for 
these two little girls had their whole minds 
quite upset by the thought of a day’s pleasure ; 
and as they never tried to restrain themselves, 
and to ‘ be sober, be vigilant,’ they gave way 
before all the little trials in their paths — were 
first careless, and then fractious. Perhaps when 
they were older, they would find out that this 
uplifted sense of excited expectation is the very 
warning to be heedful. 

If Miss Fosbrook had been a strict gov- 
erness, she would have told them they did not 
deserve to go at all ; or at any rate, that Bessie 
must repeat hei* grammar better, and re-write 
her copy ; and that Annie’s unlucky addition 
sum must be made to prove ; but she had seen 
her little sisters nearly as bad in prospect of 
a pantomime, so she wasmierciful, and sent them 
in good time to brush their hair, put on their 
spotted cottons, and wash off as much as possi- 
ble of the red mottling left by those foolish 
tears. 

Their spirits rose again as fast as they had 
sunk ; and it was a lively walk through the park 
to the great house, with a good deal of skipping 
and jumping at first, and then, near the door, a 
little awe and gravity. 

They were taken to a side door of the hall 
to the school-room, where Ida and her governess 
received them. It was the first time that Chris- 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 11 7 

tabel had seen her out of her beplumed hat, and 
she thought her a pleasant bright-looking little 
girl, not at all set up or conceited. Her mauve 
muslin, flounced though it was up to her waist, 
showed that it had been wise to withstand Bes- 
sie’s desire for the white muslins ; but Miss 
Fosbrook had enough to do on her own account 
with the endeavour to understand the German 
governess’s foreign accent without attending to 
the children more than was necessary. 

It was not a very remarkable day, and the 
pleasures of it seemed hardly enough to justify 
the little girls’ great excitement. There was 
first the dinner at the luncheon of the parents, 
where the children sat up rather formal and 
subdued, and not quite certain what all the 
dishes might contain, a little afraid of getting 
what they could not eat, though desirous of 
making experiments in this land of wonders. 
None of them had forgotten, and they thought 
no one else had, how Bessie had once come to 
disgrace by bursting out crying over the impos- 
sibility of finishing some tdl*rible rice-bordered 
greenish yellow stuff that burnt her mouth be- 
yond bearing, and which Ida called curry, and 
said people in the East Indies liked. However, 
that was when Bessie had been a very little girl, 
and she still continued adventurous, saying, 
‘ Yes, if you please,’ to cutlets set round in a 
wreath, with all their bones sticking up, and 
covered with a reddish incrustation that Susan 
and Annie thought so unnatural, that they pre- 
ferred the boiled chicken that at least they could 


118 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


understand, though it had funny-looking accom- 
paniments in the sauce. And Hal’s report of 
some savoury jelly, which he had once encoun- 
tered, would have deterred them from the pink 
transparency in the shape of a shell, if they had 
not seen Bessie getting on very well with it, 
Miss Fosbrook happily perceiving and cutting 
short Annie’s intended inquiry whether it were 
nice. To her great relief, this w^as the only 
want of manners betrayed by her little savages, 
and she was able to keep her attention tolerably 
free from them, so as to look at the pictures on 
the walls, observe the two boys, Hal’s friends, 
and talk to Mrs. Greville, who made conversa- 
tion with her very pleasantly. 

She was much grieved to perceive, from 
what that lady said, that Mrs. Merrifield was 
thought to be much more ill, and in a far more 
alarming state, than she had at all understood. 
The girls were too young to enter into the tone 
of sad sympathy with which Mrs. Greville spoke, 
and the manner in which a doubt was expressed 
whether the captaii:? would be able to sail with 
Admiral Penrose if he should have the oifer ; 
and as soon as she saw that they and their gov- 
erness were in ignorance, she turned it off; but 
she had said enough to fill Christabel with anx- 
iety and desire to know more ; and as soon as 
the dinner was over, and the little girls had run 
off together to visit Ida’s beautiful cockatoo in 
the conservatory, she turned to Fraulein Mun- 
stei;thal, and begged to hear whether she knew 
more than had been said. 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


119 


Fraulein Munsterthal did not quite know 
that such a person as Mrs. Merrifield was in ex- 
istence ; hut she was very amiable and warm- 
hearted, and said how sad it was to think of the 
trouble that hung over ‘ these so careless chil- 
dren,’ and was doubly kind to the girls when 
they came back from their conversation with 
pretty ‘ cocky,’ who set up his lemon-coloured 
crest, coughed, sneezed, and said, ‘ Cocky want 
a biscuit ! ’ to admiration, till the boys were 
seen approaching ; when Ida, knowing that some 
torment would follow, took herself and her vis- 
itors back to the protection of the governesses 
in time to prevent the cockatoo from being 
made to fly at the girls, and powder them with 
the white dust under his feathers. 

The afternoon was spent in the garden, the 
little girls betaking themselves to a pretty 
moss-covered arbour, where there .was a grand 
dolls’ feast. Ida had no less than twenty-three 
dolls, ranging from the magnificent Rosalind, 
who had real hair that could be brushed, and 
was as large as little Sally at home, down to 
poor little china Mildred, whose proper dwell- 
ing-place was a bath, and who had, with great 
difficulty, been put into petticoats enough to 
make her fit to be seen out of it. Now nobody 
at home could have saved the life of a doll for a 
single day, and Susan and Elizabeth were both 
thought far above them ; but these beautifully 
arrayed young ladies had always been the admi- 
ration of the heart of Bessie as well as of Annie, 
and they were not too old for extreme satisfa'c- 


120 THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 

tion in handling their elegant ladyships, and still 
more their beautiful dinner and tea-service of 
pink and white ware. 

Susan, though she could not write a note nor 
do lessons like Ida, was older in the ways of life, 
and played rather as she did with the little ones 
at home than for her own amusement. She 
would much rather have had the fun of ‘ cats 
and mice ’ with her brothers ; and but for the 
honour of the thing, so perhaps would Annie. 
However, they were all very happy getting the 
dolls up in the morning, giving Mildred washing 
enough for all the twenty-three, making them 
breakfast, hearing lessons, in which Ida was gov- 
erness, and made them talk so many languages 
that Annie was alarmed. Of course one. of the 
young ladies was very naughty, and was treated 
with extreme severity ; then there w'as dinner, a 
walk, an illness, and a dinner-party. While all 
the time the two real governesses sat in the 
shade outside, and talked in English or German 
as best they might, the Eraulein understanding 
Christabel’s English the best, as did Christabel 
the Fraulein’s German. They began to make 
friends, and to wish to see more of one another. 

There was a walk round the garden, and 
admiration of the beautiful flowers, and the foun- 
tain and pond of gold fish, till the boys came 
home, and got hold of the garden engine for 
watering, crying out, ‘ Fire ! fire ! ^ and squirt- 
ing out the showers of water very much in the 
direction of the girls. 

Ida became quite crimson red, and got hold 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


.121 


of Susan’s hand to drag her away ; then as the 
foremost drops of another shower touched her, 
she faced about and said, ‘ Osmond ! don’t, or Fll 
tell mamma.’ There was a great rude laugh, as 
of hoys who well knew the threat was never put 
in execution ; and poor Fraulein Munsterthal 
only shook her head at Miss Foshrook’s look of 
amaze, and said in German that ‘ die Knaben ’ 
were far too unartig for her to keep in order. 
She pitied Miss Fosbrook for having so many in 
charge as to destroy all peace. And if Sam and 
Hal had been like these two, Christabel felt that 
she could have done nothing with them. To 
her dismay Osmond and Martin came in to the 
school-room tea ; and she never had thought to 
feel so thankful for poor dear Susan’s slowness 
of comprehension, for from their whispers among 
themselves, and from their poor tormented sis- 
ter’s blushes, she was clear that the ‘ fire ’ was a 
piece of bad wit on Susan’s red hair. Boys who 
could so basely insult a guest, and that a girl, 
she was sure must be bad companions for Sam 
and Henry. Such little gentlemen as they had 
been at dinner too, so polite and well behaved 
before their father and mother ! There could be 
no doubt that something must be very wrong 
about them, or they would not change so entirely 
when out of sight. It is not always true that a 
child must be deceitful who is less good in the 
absence of the authorities, because their presence 
is a help and restraint, checking the beginning 
of mischief, and removing temptation ; but one 
who does not fall by weakness, but intentionally 


122 * 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


alters his conduct the instant the elder is gone, 
shows that his will has been disobedient all 
along. 

By-and-by, Mr. Greville’s voice was heard 
calling, ^ Martin ! Osmond ! * As they went out 
to meet him in the passage, Miss Fosbrook 
clearly overheard, ‘ Here is the spring of the 
garden engine spoilt. Do you know anything 
about it ? ^ 

‘No.’ 

‘ You have not been meddling with it ? ’ 

‘ No : ’ and they ran down-stairs. 

The colour flushed into Christabel’s cheeks 
with horror. She was glad that her little girls 
were all in Ida’s room, listening to a musical 
box, and well out of hearing of such fearfully 
direct falsehood as it seemed to her, not knowing 
that the boys excused it to their own minds, by 
the notion that it was not the spring of the en- 
gine that they had been meddling with, and 
that so they did not know how the harm had 
been done. As if it made it any better that 
they lied to themselves as well as their father f 
The German saw her dismay, and began to say 
how unlike her Ida was to her brothers, so 
truthful, so gentle, and courteous ; but poor 
Christabel could not get over the thought of the 
ease and readiness with which deceit came to 
these boys. Could their daily companions, 
Samuel and Henry, have learnt the same 
effrontery, and be deceiving her all this time ? 
No, no, she could not, wmld not, think it! 
Assuredly not of Sam I She was very glad not 


THE STOKKSLEY SECEET. 


123 


to see the boys again, and went home with her 
pupils rather heavy-hearted at eight o’clock, just 
as Ida was to put on her white muslin and 
pink ribbons, and go down after dinner for half 
an hour. 

There were many kisses at parting, and a 
whole box of sweets done up in beautifully 
coloured, and gold and silver paper, presented to 
the little visitors ; but it might be supposed that 
the girls were tired, for there was a fretful 
snarling all the way across the park, because 
Elizabeth insisted that the gifts should be called 
bon-bons, and the others would hear of nothing 
but goodies. Nobody looked at the beautiful 
evening sky, nor at the round red moon coming 
up like a lamp behind the trees, nor at the first 
stars peeping out, nor even at the green light of 
the glow worms — all which were more beautiful 
than anything Ida had shown them, except per- 
haps the hot-house flowers ; and at last two such 
cross ill-tempered voices sounded from Bessie 
and Annie, that Christabel turned round and de- 
clared that she should not let the sugar-plums be 
touched for a week if another word were said 
about them. 

She hoped that when the visit w'as over it 
would be done with ; but no such thing. Though 
Susan was her own good hearty self, Elizabeth 
had not recovered either on that day or the next 
from the effects of the pleasuring. On each, she 
cried over her lessons, and was cross at whatever 
the boys said to her, made a fuss about keeping 
the ornamental cases of the bon-bons, and went 


124 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


about round-backed, peevish, and discontented, 
finding everything flat and ugly after her one 
peep at the luxuries of the park. Her farthings 
melted away fast ; but she seemed to think this 
her misfortune, not her fault. She did not try 
to talk to Miss Fosbrook, feeling perhaps that 
she was in a naughty mood, which she would not 
try to shake ofi* ; and she made no attempt to 
go on with her present for her mamma, it looked 
so poor and trumpery after the beautiful things 
she had seen. 

Nor did Christabel like to remind her of it, 
fearing that the occasion for giving it might 
never come; but she did feel that it was a 
mournful thing to see the child, who was in dan- 
ger of so fearful a sorrow, wasting her grief in 
pining after foolish fancies, and turning what 
should have been a refreshing holiday, into an 
occasion of longing after what she thus made 
into pomps and vanities of this wicked world. 
Christabel had heard that people who murmur 
among blessings often have those blessings 
snatched away, and this made her tremble for 
poor little discontented Elizabeth. 


CHAPTER X. 

‘ There ! ’ exclaimed Susan, ‘ I really have 
got a letter from papa himself. What a prize ! ’ 
‘You’ll have to mind your Grosvenor when 




o 





THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


125 


you answer him^ said Sam ; ‘ but hollo, what’s 
; the matter V 

For Susan’s eyes had grown large, and her 
whole face scarlet, and she gave a little cry as 
she read. 

‘ Your mamma, my dear f asked Miss Fos- 
brook. 

“ Oh, mamma — mamma is so very ill !’ and 
Susan threw the letter down, and broke into a 
fit of sobbing. 

Sam caught it up, and Elizabeth came to 
! read it with him, both standing still and not 
speaking a word, but staring at the letter with 
their eyes fixed. 

‘ What is it, my dear V said Miss Fosbrook, 
i tenderly putting her arm round Susan ; but she 
sobbed too much to make a word distinct, and 
Bessie held out the letter to her governess, look- 
ing white, and too much awed to speak. 

Captain Merrifield wrote in short plain sad 
I' words, that he thought it right that his children 
I should know how. matters stood. The doctor’s 
I treatment, for which their mother had been taken 
! to London, had not succeeded, but bad occa- 
!: sioned such terrible illness, that unless by the 
1 ; mercy of God she became much better in the 
; course of a day or two, she could not live. If 
she should be worse, he would either write or 
: telegraph, and Susan and Sam must be ready to 
i set out at once on the receipt of such a message, 

: and come up by the next train to London, where 
, they should be met at the station. He had 


126 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


promised their mother that in case of need he 
would send for them. 


‘ God bless you, my poor children, and have mercy 
on us all ! 


‘ Your loving father, 

‘ H. Merrifield.’ 


That was all ; and Christabel felt, more than 
even the children did, from how full and heavy 
a heart those words had been written. 

Though she hardly knew how to speak, she 
tried to comfort Susan by showing her that her 
father had evidently not given up all hope ; but 
Susan was crying more at the thought of her 
mamma’s present illness and pain than with fear 
of the future ; and Sam said sadly, ‘ He would 
not have written at all unless it had been very 
bad indeed.’ 

‘ Yes,’ said Miss Fosbrook ; ‘ but I believe 
in cases like this, there is often great fear, and 
then very speedy improvement.’ 

‘ O dear,’ said Bessie, speaking for the first 
time, ‘ I know it will be. Little girls in story 
books always do have their mammas — die ! ’ 

‘ Story books are all nonsense, so it won’t 
happen,’ said Sam ; and really it seemed as if 
the habit of contradicting Bessie had suggested 
to him the greatest consolation that had yet 
occurred. 

Just then Henry and the younger ones came 
in, and learnt the tidings. Henry wept as bit- 
terly as his eldest sister, and John and Annie 
both did the same j but David did not speak one 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 127 

word, as if he hardly took in what was the mat- 
ter, and going to the window took up his lesson- 
books as usual. 

‘ It is nine o’clock, Hal,’ said Sam pres- 
ently. 

‘ Oh, we can’t go to Mr. Carey to-day,’ said 
Hal. 

‘ Yes, we shall,’ returned Sam. 

‘ O don’t,’ cried Susan. ‘ Suppose a tele- 
graph should come ! ’ 

‘ Well then, you can send for me,’ said Sam. 
‘ Come, Hal.’ 

‘ How can you, Sam ? ’ said Henry crossly ; 
* I know Mr. Carey will give us leave when he 
knows.’ 

‘ I don’t want leave,’ said Sam ; ^ I don’t 
want to kick up a row, as you’ll do if you stay 
at home.’ 

‘ Well then, if the message comes, I shall 
take Susie to London instead of you. I’m sure 
they want me most ! ’ 

‘No, go down to Mr. Carey’s with your 
brother, if you please, Hal,’ said Miss Fosbrook 
decidedly. ‘ If he should tell you not to stay, 
I can’t help it, but you will none of you do any 
good by hanging about without doing your daily 
duties.’ 

Hal saw he had no chance, and marched off, 
muttering about its being very hard. Sam 
picked up his books, and turned to go, with a 
grave steady look that was quite manly in its 
sadness, only stopping to say, ‘Now Jackey, you 
be good ! Please, Miss Fosbrook, let him run 


128 


THE STOKESLET SECRET. 


down after me if the message comes, and I’ll be 
back before the horse is out.’ 

Miss Fosbrook promised, and could not help 
shaking bands with the brave boy, if only to 
show that she felt with him. 

‘ Then must we all do our lessons ? ^ asked 
Annie disconsolately, when be was gone. 

‘ Yes, my dear ; I think we shall all be the 
better for not neglecting what we ought to do. 
But there is one thing that we can do for your 
dear mamma ; you know what I mean. Suppose 
you each went away alone for five minutes, and 
were to come back when I ring the little bell ! ’ 

The first to come back was Annie, with the 
question, in a low whisper, ‘Miss Fosbrook, 
will God make mamma better if we are very 
good ? ’ 

Miss Fosbrook kissed her, saying, ‘ My dear 
little girl, I cannot tell. All I can certainly 
tell you is, that He bears the prayers of good 
children, and if it be better for her and for you. 
He will give her back to you.’ 

Annie did not quite understand, but she 
entered into what Miss Fosbrook said enough 
to wish to be good ; so she took up her book, 
and began to learn with all her might. 

Elizabeth would have thought it much more 
like a little girl in a book to have done no 
lessons, but have sat thinking and perhaps read- 
ing the Bible all day ; but on the whole, Eliza- 
beth bad hardly thoughts enough to last her so 
long; nor was she deep or serious enough to 
have done herself much good by keeping the 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


129 




Bible open before her. In fact, sbe did lose her 
verse in merely reading the chapter for the day ! 
So it was just as well that she ^ad something to 
do that was not play, and that was a duty, and 
thus might give the desire to be good, something 
to bear upon. 

But Christabel saw by Susan’s face, and 
heard in the shaken voice with which she took 
her turn in the reading, that she could not have 
given her mind to her tasks, and did not need 
them to keep her out of mischief. It would 
have been cruel to have required her to sit down 
to them just then, and her governess was glad 
to be able to excuse her on account of the pack- 
ing up. All her things and Sam’s must be got 
ready in case of an immediate start, and she was 
sent up to the nursery to take care of the little 
ones, while nurse and Mary mended, ironed, 
and packed. 

To be sure. Nurse Freeman made poor Susan 
unnecessarily unhappy by being sure that it was 
all the fault of the London doctors ; but she was 
a kind tender old woman, and her petting was a 
great comfort to the poor girl. What did her 
most good, however, was sitting quite quiet with 
the little ones while they were asleep, and all 
alone ; it seemed to rest and compose her, and 
she always loved to be in charge of them. Poor 
child ! she might soon have to be their little 
mother ! She was able to play with them when 
they awoke, and cheered herself up with their 
pretty ways, and by finding how quickly baby 


130 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


was learning to walk. Ah ! but would mamma 
ever see her walk ? 

If any of the children thought it unjust that 
Susan’s lessons should be let off, they were 
wrong. Parents and teachers must have the 
power of doing such things without being judged. 
Sometimes they see that a child is really unable 
to learn, when the others perceive no difference ; 
and it would be very harsh and cruel to oppress 
one who is out of order, for fear little silly idle 
healthy things should think themselves hardly 
used. 

At any rate, the lessons were capitally done; 
and when the children met again they were all 
so much brighter and more hopeful, that they 
quite believed that their mamma Avas going to 
get better very fast. Bessie especially was so 
resolved that thus it should be, that she shut 
herself into Miss Fosbrook’s room, and drew and 
painted with all her might, as if preparing for 
mamma’s birthday made it certain that it w^ould 
be kept. 

The boys brought word that they would have 
a holiday the next day, as it was the Feast of 
St. Barnabas, and after morning service, Mr. 
Carey was going to meet his brother and bring 
him home. 

‘ I shall be all the more certain to get the 
sovereign or two sovereigns,’ said Henry to 
David, the only person whom he could find to 
listen to him, ‘ if Sam is gone ; and every one 
will be caring about me.* 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


131 


* And then you’ll give it to the pig,* said 
David, 

^ 0 yes, to be sure. You will grow into a 
pig yourself if you go on that way, David.’ 

However, David partaking the family dis- 
trust of Hal’s birds in the bush, and being start- 
ed on the subject of the hoard, ran up to Sam, 
who was learning his lessons by way of some- 
thing to do, and said, ‘ If you go to London, 
Sam, may I have your sixpence on Monday for 
the pig ? ’ 

‘ I don’t know that I am going.* 

‘ But if you do — or we shan’t get the pig.* 

‘ I don’t care.* 

‘ Don’t you care if we don’t get the pig ? * 

‘ No. Be off with you.* 

David next betook himself to his eldest sister, 
who was trying to write to her father, and find- 
ing such a letter harder and sadder work than 
that to Ida Greville, though no one teazed her 
about writing, blots, or spelling. 

‘ If you go to London, Susie,* said he in the 
very same words, ‘ may I have your sixpence on 
Monday for the pig ? * 

‘ Oh, Davie, don’t be tiresome ! * 

David only said it over again in the same 
words, and put his hand down on her letter in 
his earnestness. 

‘ Come away, Davie,* said Miss Fosbrook ; 
* don’t teaze your sister.* 

‘ I want her to say I may have her sixpence 
-on Monday for the pig.* 

‘ No, you shan’t then,* said Susan angrily ; 


1.32 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


‘ you care for the nasty pig more than poor 
mamma or any one else, and you shan’t have it.’ 

So seldom did Susan say anything cross, that 
every one looked up surprised. Miss Fosbrook 
saw that it was sheer unhappiness that made her 
speak sharply, and would not take any notice, 
except by gently taking away the pertinacious 
David. 

He was very much distressed at the refusal ; 
and when Miss Fosbrook told him that his 
brother and sister could not think of such things 
when they were in such trouble, he only an- 
swered, ‘But Hannah Higgins won’t get her 
pig-’ 

Miss Fosbrook was vexed herself that her 
friend David should seem possessed with this 
single idea, as if it shut out all others from his 
mind. He was consoled fast enough ; for Susan, 
with another great sob, threw down her pen, 
and coming up to stroke him down with her 
inky finger, cried out, ‘ O Davie, Davie, I didn’t 
mean it ; I don’t know why I said it ! You 
shall have my sixpence, or anything ! But oh 
dear, I wish the message was come, and we were 
going to dear mamma, for I can’t write, and 1 
don’t know what to do.’ 

Then she went back to her place, and tried 
to write, and sat with her head on her hand, and 
dawdled, and cried, and blotted, till it grew so 
near post-time, that at last Miss Fosbrook took 
the longest of her scrawls, and writing three 
lines at the bottom, to say how it was with 
them all, directed it to Captain Merrifield, 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


133 


thinking that he would like it better than noth- 
ing from home, sent it off, and made Susan come 
out to refresh her hot eyes and burning head in 
' the garden. 

' Sam presently came and walked on her other 

side, gravely and in silence, glad to be away 
from the chatter and disputes of the younger 
ones. That summons had made them both feel 
older, and less like children, than ever before, 
but they did not speak much ; only when they 
sat down on a garden bench, as Miss Fosbrook 
held Susan’s hand, she presently found some 
rough hard young fingers stealing into her own 
on the other side, and saw Sam’s eyes glisten- 
ing with unshed tears. She stroked his hand, 
and they dropped fast ; but he was ashamed to 
► cry, and quickly dried them. 

‘ I think,’ she said, ‘ that you will be a man, 
i Sam ; take care of Susan, and be a comfort to 
I your father.’ 

‘ I hope I shall,’ said Sam ; ‘ but I don’t 
know how.’ 

‘Nobody can tell how beforehand,’ she said. 

‘ Only watch to see what he may seem to want 
to have done for him. Sit quietly by, and don’t 
get in the way.’ 

‘Were you ever so unhappy. Miss Fos- 
; brook ? ’ asked Susan. 

‘Yes, once I was, when my father was 
i knocked down by an omnibus, and was very 
' ill.’ 

‘ Tell us about it,’ said Susan. 

She did tell them of her week of sorrow and 
8 


134 


THE STOKESLET SECEET. 


anxious care of the younger children, and the 
brightening ray of hope at last. It seemed to 
freshen both up, and give them hopes, for each 
drew a long sigh of relief; and then Sam said, 
‘Papa wrote to Mr. Carey. She is to be 
prayed for in church to-morrow.’ 

‘ Oh,’ said Susan, with a sound as of dismay, 
which made Christabel ask in wonder why she 
was sorry, when from Susan’s half uttered words, 
she found that the little girl fancied that ‘ a 
happy issue out of all her afflictions,’ meant 
death. 

‘ Oh no, my dear,’ she said. ‘ What it means 
is, that the afflictions may end happily in what- 
ever way God may see to be best ; it may be in 
getting well ; it may be the other way ; at any 
rate, it is asking that the distress may be over, 
not saying how.’ 

‘ Isn’t there some other prayer in the Prayer 
Book about it ? ’ said Sam, looking straight be- 
fore him. 

‘ I will show you where to find it in the Visi- 
tation of the Sick. I dare say it has often been 
read to her.’ 

The boy and girl came in with her, and 
brought their Prayer Books to her room, that 
she might mark them. 

This had been a strange long sad day of 
waiting and watching for the telegram, and the 
children even fancied it might come' in the mid- 
dle of the night ; but Miss Fosbrook thought 
this unlikely, and looked for the morrow’s post. 
There was no letter. It was very disappoint- 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


135 


ing, but Miss Fosbrook thought it a good sign, 
since at least the danger could not be more 
pressing, and delay always left room for hope. 

The children readily believed her ; they 
were too young to go on dwelling long on what 
w^as not in sight, and even Susan was cheerful 
and able to think about other things after her 
night’s rest, and the relief of not hearing a worse 
account. 

The children might do as they pleased about 
going to church on saints’ days, and on this day 
all the three girls wished to go, as soon as it had 
been m'ade clear that even if the message should 
I come before the short service would be over, 

I there w'ould be ample time to reach the station 
before the next train. Miss Fosbrook was glad 
to prove this, for not only did she wish to have 
them in church, but she thought the weary watch- 
ing for the telegram was the worst thing possi- 
ble for Susan. Sam was also going to church, 
but Henry hung back, after accompanying them 
to the end of the kitchen-garden. ‘ I wouldn’t 
go, Sam ; just suppose if the message came 
without any one at home, and you had to set out 
at once ! ’ 

‘ W e couldn’t,’ said Sam ; ‘ there’s no train.’ 
‘ Oh, but they always put on a special train 
whenever any one is ill.’ 

Then there would be plenty ! ’ 

‘ At least they did when Mr. Greville’s 
mother was ill, so they will now ; and then you 
may ride upon the engine, for there won’t be 
any carriages, you know. I say, Sam, if you go 


136 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


to church, and the telegraph comes, I shall 
set off.’ 

‘ You’ll do no such thing,’ said Sam. ‘ You 
had much better come to church.’ 

‘No, I shan’t. It is like a girl to go to 
church on a week-day.’ 

‘ It is much more like a girl to mind what a 
couple of asses, like the Grevilles, say,’ returned 
Sam, taking up his cap, and running after his 
sisters and their governess. 

‘ It is quite right,’ observed Henry to John 
and David, who alone remained to listen to 
him, ‘ that one of us should stay in case the tel- 
egraph comes in, and there are any orders to 
give. I can catch the pony, you know, and ride 
off to Bonchamp, and if the special train is there, 
I shall get upon the engine.’ 

‘ But it is Sam and Susan who are going.’ 

‘ Oh, that’s only because Sam is eldest.. I 
know mamma would like to have me much 
better, because I don’t walk hard like Sam, and 
when I get there, she will be so much better 
already, and we shall be all right ; and Admiral 
Penrose will be so delighted at my courage in 
riding on the engine and putting out the explo- 
sion or something, that he will give me my ap- 
pointment as naval cadet at once, and I shall 
have a dirk and a uniform, and a chest of my 
own, and be an officer, and get promoted for 
firing red-hot shot out of the batteries at Gib- 
raltar ! ’ 

‘ Master Hal ! ’ exclaimed Purday,’ don’t 
throw them little apples about.’ 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


137 


* They are red-hot shot, Purday ! ’ 

‘ I’ll red-hot shot you if you break my cu- 
cumber frames, young gentleman ! Come, get 
out with you.’ 

Probably anxiety made Purday cross as 
well as every one else, or else he distrusted 
Henry’s discretion without Sam, for he hunted 
the little boys away wherever they went. Now 
they would break the cucumber frames ; now 
they would meddle with the gooseberries, or 
trample ‘on the bed ; and at last he only re- 
lented so far as to let David stay with him on 
condition of being very good, and holding the 
little cabbages as he planted them out. 

‘ Master Davie was a solemn one,’ Purday 
said, and they were great friends ; but Hal and 
Johnnie were fairly turned out, as their idle 
hands were continually finding fresh mischief to 
do in their sauntering desultory mood. 

‘ I think,’ said Hal, ‘ since Purday is so sav- 
age, we’ll go and look out at the gate, and then 
we shall see if the telegraph comes.’ 

Johnnie had no clear idea w^hat a telegraph 
was, and was curious to know how it w^ould 
come, rather expecting it to be a man in a red 
coat on horseback, blowing a horn — a sight that 
certainly was not to be missed ; so he willingly 
strolled down after Henry to the gate leading 
to the lane. 

‘ I can’t see any way at all,’ said Henry, 
looking out into the lane. ‘ I shall get up, and 
so see over into the bend of the road ; ’ and Hal 
mounted to the topmost bar of the gate, and sat 


138 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


astride there, John scrambling after him not 
quite so easily, his legs being less long, and his 
dress less convenient. Both knew that their 
papa strongly objected to their climbing on this 
iron gate, the newest and handsomest thing 
about the place ; but thought Hal, ‘ Of course 
no one will care what I do when I am so anx- 
ious about poor mamma ! ’ and thought J ohnnie, 
* What Hal does, of course I may do ! ’ 

So there the two young gentlemen sat 
perched, each with one leg on either side of 
the new iron gate. It was rather like sitting on 
the edge of a knife, and John could scarcely 
reach his toes down to rest them on the bar 
below, but he held on by the spikes, and it was 
so new and glorious a position, that it made up 
for a good deal to be five feet above the road ; 
moreover, Hal said it was just like the mast- 
head of a man-of-war, at least when the waves 
didn’t dash right overhead, like the picture of 
the Eddystone light-house. 

‘ Hollo, what a couple of cherubs aloft ! ’ 
cried a voice from the road ; and looking round, 
Henry beheld the two Grevilles. 

‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘ it’s very jolly up here.’ 

‘ Eh ! is it ? Riding on a razor, to my mind. 
Come down, and have a lark,’ said Osmond, 
while Martin, undoing the gate, proceeded to 
swing it backwards and forwards, to John’s ex- 
treme terror ; but the more he clung to the 
spikes, and cried for mercy, the quicker Martin 
swung it, shouting with laughter at his fright. 
Henry meanwhile scrambled and tumbled to 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


139 


the ground, and caught the gate and held it fast, 
while he asked what his friends had been about. 
One held up a scarlet flask of powder, the other 
a bag of shot. 

‘ You haven’t got a gun ! ’ 

‘ No, but we know where gardener keeps his, 
and the governor’s out for the day. Come 
along, Hal ; you shall have your turn.’ 

‘ I don’t want to go far from home to-day.’ 

‘ O stuff! What was it mamma heard, Os- 
mond ? That your mother was ever so much 
better, wasn’t it ? ’ 

‘ I thought it was worse,’ said Osmond. 

‘ Well, never mind, your hanging about here 
won’t do any good, I suppose.’ 

‘ No, but — ’ 

‘ Oh, he’ll catch it from the governess ! I 
say, how many seams shall you have to sew to- 
day, Hal?’ 

^ I dont sew seams ; I do as I please.’ 

‘ Ha ! Is that them coming out of church ? ’ 

‘ Oh, it is ! it is ! ’ cried John from his ele- 
vation. ‘ O help me down, Hal! ’ 

But Henry did not want Miss Fosbrook to 
find him partaking in gate-climbing ; and either 
that desire, or the general terror of a bad con- 
science, made him and the Grevilles run helter- 
skelter the opposite way, leaving poor little 
John stuck on the top of the gate, quite giddy at 
the thought of coming down alone, and almost as 
much afraid of being there caught by Miss Fos- 
brook coming home from church. 

It was a false alarm, after all, that the con- 


140 


THE STOKESLEY SECKET. 


gregation were coming out. John would have 
been glad if they had, lor nothing could be more 
miserable than sitting up there, his fingers tired 
of clutching the spikes, his feet strained with 
reaching down to the bar, his legs chilled with 
the wind, his head almost giddy when he 
thought of climbing down. He would have 
cried, could he have spared a hand to rub his 
eyes with ; he had a great mind to have roared 
for help, especially when he heard feet upon the 
road ; but these turned out to belong to five lit- 
tle village boys, still smaller than himself, who, 
wdien they saw the young gentleman on his 
perch, all stood still in a row, with their mouths 
wide open, staring at him. Johnnie scorned to 
let them think he was not riding there for his 
own pleasure, so he tried to put a bold face on 
the matter, and look as much at ease and indif- 
ferent as he could, under great bodily fear and 
discomfort, the injury of his brother’s desertion, 
the expectation of disgrace, and the reflection 
that he was being disobedient to his parents in 
the height of their trouble ! 

There is nothing in grief that of necessity 
makes children or grown people good. Some- 
times, especially when there is suspense, it fills 
them with excitement, as well as putting them 
out of their usual habits ; and thus it often hap- 
pens that there are tremendous explosions of 
naughtiness just when some one is ill in a house, 
and the children ought to be most good. But 
it is certain that unless trouble be taken in the 
right way, it makes people worse instead of 
better. 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


141 


CHAPTER XI. 

Hal had got into a mood in which he was 
tired of fears and of waiting for tidings, and was 
glad to shake off the thought, and be carried 
along to something new. He and the Grevilles 
were rather fond of one another’s company, in 
an idle sort of way. They ‘ put him up to 
things,’ as he said ; they made a variety ; and 
he was always glad of listeners to his wonderful 
stories, which rather diverted the other boys, 
who, though they sometimes made game of 
them, were much less apt to pick them to pieces 
than was Sam. 

Poor Captain Merrifield ! what had not be- 
fallen him, according to his son 'i He had been 
stuck on to a rock of loadstone ; he had been 
bitten by mosquitoes as big as jackdaws — at 
least as jack snipes ; he had sat down to rest on 
the trunk of a fallen tree, and it whisked him 
over on his face, and turned out to be a rattle- 
snake — at least, a boa-constrictor ! Nay, Henry 
discoursed on the ponies he had himself tamed, 
the rabbits he had shot, the trees he had climbed, 
the nests he had found, the rats he had killed, in 
terms he durst not use when his brother was by, 
or if he did, and Sam brought him to book, he 
always said ‘ it was all fun.’ It often seemed as 
if he did not himself know whether he meant to 
be believed or otherwise ; and as to his inten- 
tions for his sailor life, they were, as has been 
already seen, of the most splendid character ! 


142 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


Sometimes he shot the French admiral dead 
from the mast-head ; sometimes he sailed into 
Plymouth with the whole enemy’s fleet behind 
him ; sometimes he, the youngest midshipman, 
rescued the whole crew in a wreck where all the 
other officers were drowned ; sometimes he shot 
a shark through the head, just as it was about 
to make a meal of Prince Alfred ! 

He certainly w^as thus an entertaining com- 
panion to those who did not pay heed to truth, 
and liked to hear or laugh at great swelling 
words and the Grevilles, on tWr idle day, 
were glad to have him with them, and w^ere 
rather curious to prove how much fact there 
was’in his boast of being a most admirable shot. 

Meddling with guns w’as absolutely forbid- 
den to all the three, except by special permis- 
sion, and with an elder looking on; but the 
Grevilles were not in the habit of obeying, ex- 
cept when they were forced to do so ; and 
Henry, having once begun to think no one 
would heed his present doings, was ready to go 
on rather than be accused of minding his gov- 
erness. 

So the gardener’s gun w^as taken from the 
hiding place, whither it had been conveyed from 
the tool-house ; and the three boys ran oft' to- 
gether, their first object being to get out of the 
Greville grounds, where they could be met by 
any of the men. They got quite out into the 
fields, before they ventured to stop that Osmond 
might load the gun. Each was to take a shot 
in turn ; Osmond tried first, at a poor innocent 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


143 


young thrush, newly come out for his earliest 
flight. Happily he missed it ; Martin claimed 
the next, and for want of anything better to 
shoot, took aim at the scarecrow in the middle 
of Farmer Grice’s beans. He was sure that he 
had hit it, and showed triumphantly the great 
holes in its hat ; but the other boys were 
strongly persuaded that they had been there 
before. 

‘ Well, come away,’ said Osmond ; ‘ this is 
a great deal too near old Grice’s farm-yard. If 
we go popping about here, we shall have him 
out upon us for an old tiger as he is ! ’ 

* Come along then,’ said Martin. 

But Hal had just got the gun, and saw 
something so black and shiny through the 
hedge, that he was persuaded that a flock of 
rooks were feeding in the next field, and he 
fired ! 

Such a cackling and screeching as arose ! and 
•with it one dying gobble, and a very loud 
‘ Hollo ! you rascal ! ’ 

‘ My eyes ! you’ve been and gone and done 
it ! ’ cried Osmond. 

‘ Cut ! cut ! ’ screamed Martin ; and Hal, 
not exactly knowing what he had done, but sure 
that it was something dreadful, and hearing 
voices in pursuit, threw down the gun, and took 
to his heels ; but the others had the start of 
him, and were over the gap long before he 
could get to it. And even as h^ did reach it, a 
1 hand was on his throat, almost choking him, 
i and a tremendous voice cried, ‘ You young 


144 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


poacher, you shan’t get off that way ! I’ll have 
you up to the bench, that I will, for shooting 
the poor old turkey-cock before my very eyes.’ 

‘ Oh ! don’t, don’t ! I didn’t mean it,’ cried 
Hal, turning in the terrible grip ; ‘ I thought it 
was only a rook ! ’ 

‘ A rook, I dare say. And what business 
had you to think, coming trespassing here on 
my ground, and breaking the hedges ? I’d have 
you up for that, if for nothing else, you young 
vagabond ! ’ 

‘ Oh, don’t, don’t ! I’m Henry Merrifield ! ’ 

‘ I don’t care if you’re Henry Merry An- 
drew ! ’ said Farmer Grice, who was a surly 
man, and had a grudge of long standing against 
the captain, for withstanding him at the board 
of guardians. ‘ I’ll have the law out of you, 
w'hoever you are.’ 

‘ But — but — mamma is so very ill,’ cried 
Hal, bursting into tears. 

‘ The more shame for you, to be rampaging 
about the country this fashion,’ said the farmer, 
giving him a shake that seemed to make all his 
bones rattle in his skin. ‘Serve you right if I 
flogged you within an inch of your life.’ 

‘ Oh, please don’t — I mean please do — any- 
thing but have me up to the magistrate’s ! I’ll 
never do it again, never, sobbed Henry in his 
terror. 

Mr. Grice had some pity, and also knew 
that his wife 5nd all the neighbours would be 
shocked at his prosecuting so young a boy, 
whose parents were in such distress. So he 


THE STOKE3LEY SECRET. 145 

said, ‘ There, then, I’ll overlook it this time, Sir, 
so as I have the value of the bird.’ 

‘And what is the value?’ asked Henry, 
trembling. 

‘Value! Why the breed came from Nor- 
folk ; he was three years old ; and my missus 
set great store on him ; he was as good as a 
house-dog to keep idle children out of the yard ; 
and it was quite a picture to see him posturing 
about, and setting up his tail ! Value ! not less 
than five-and-twenty shillings. Sir.’ 

‘ But I have not five-and-twenty shillings. I 
can’t get them,’ said Hal, falling back into mis- 
ery. 

‘ You should have thought of that before you 
shot poor old Tom Turkey ! ’ quoth Farmer 
Grice. 

‘ But what in the world shall I ever do ? ’ 
said Henry. 

‘ That’s for you to settle. Sir,’ said the 
farmer, taking up the unlucky gun. ‘ I shall 
take this, and keep it out of farther harm.’ 

‘ O pray, pray ! ’ cried Henry. It is not 
my gun ; it is Mr. Greville’s ; please let me 
have it.’ 

‘ What ! was it those young dogs, the Master 
Grevilles, that were with you ? ’ growled Mr. 
Grice. If I’d known that, I’d not have let you off 
so easy. Those boys are the plague of the place ; 
I wish it had been one of them as I’d caught, 
I’d have had some satisfaction out of them ! ’ 

Henry entreated again for the gun, explain- 
ing that they had not leave to take it ; but the 
9 


146 THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 

farmer was unrelenting. He might go to them, 
he said, to make up the price of the poor turkey- 
cock ; how they could have got the gun, was no 
affair of his ; have it they should not till the 
money was brought to him ; and if it did not 
come before night, he should carry the gun up 
to the park, and complain to Mr. Greville. 

^ With this answer the unhappy Hal was re* 
leased, and ran after his friends to tell them of 
the terms. He found them sitting on a low 
wall, just within their own grounds, waiting to 
hear what had become of him. When he had 
told his story, they both set upon him for be- 
traying them, and declared that they should 
send him to Coventry ever after, and never do 
anything with him again ; but as it was plain 
that the gun must be redeemed, if they wished 
to avoid severe punishment, there was a con- 
sultation. Nobody had much money; but Os- 
mond consolingly suspected that the farmer 
would take less ; five-and-twenty shillings was 
an exorbitant price to set on a turkey-cock’s 
head, and perhaps half would content him. 

The half, however, seemed as impossible as 
the whole. Osmond had three shillings, Martin 
two, Hal fourpence ! What was to be done ? 
And the boys declared that if it should come to 
their father’s knowledge, Hal, who had given 
up their names, should certainly not be shielded 
by them. In fact, he who had done the deed, 
was the only one who ought to pay. 

The sound of the servants’ dinner-bell at the 
park broke up the consultation ; the boys must 


THE ST0KE3LEY SECRET. 


147 


not be missed at luncheon, and they therefore 
separated, agreeing to meet at that same place 
at four o’clock, to hear the result of Hal’s nego- 
tiations with the farmer ; for neither of the Gre- 
villes would hear of helping him to face the 
enemy. 

Poor Hal plodded home disconsolately. 
Once he thought of telling Sam, and asking his 
help ; but Sam would be so much shocked at 
such a scrape at such a time, as possibly to lick 
him for it before helping him. Indeed, Hal did 
not see much chance of Sam being able to do 
anything for them ; and he had too often 
boasted over his elder brother, to like to abase 
himself by such a confession, when, too, it 
would almost be owning how much better it 
would have been to have followed Sam’s advice, 
and have gone safely to church. 

Could he borrow of any one? Had he 
nothing of his own to sell or exchange ? Ah I 
if it had not been for that stupid hoard of little 
David’s, he might have had ever so much ! By- 
the-by, some of that collection was his own. He 
might quite lawfully take that back again. How 
much could it be ? How much did he put in 
last week ? the week before ? Oh, never mind ; 
some of it was his at all events ; there was no 
harm in taking that. Most likely he should be 
able to restore it four-fold, when Colonel Carey 
made his present ; or, if not, nobody knew ex- 
actly what w^as in Toby Fillpot ; and after all, 
very likely they would forget all about it ; peo- 
ple could not think about pigs when mamma was 


148 


THE STOKES LEY SECRET. 


ill ; or, maybe, he should go to join his ship, 
and hear no more of it. So he came home, and 
crossed the paddock just as the dinner-bell was 
ringing, opening the hall-door as the children 
were running across it to the dining-room. 

Miss Fosbrook, who was walking behind 
them, turned as he came in. 

‘ Henry,’ she said, ‘ I have sent Johnnie to 
dine in the nursery, for his disobedience in 
climbing the gate. I certainly shall not give 
you a less punishment. You must have led him 
into it ; and how could you be so cruel as to 
leave the poor little fellow alone, in such a dan- 
gerous place % ’ 

‘ Stupid little coward ; it was not a bit of 
danger ! ’ said Hal. 

‘ So young a child — ’ began Miss Fosbrook. 

‘ Oh, that’s all your London notions,’ said 
Hal. ‘ Why, I climbed up our gate at Stone- 
house, which was twice as high, when I wasn’t 
near as old as that ! ’ 

‘ I am not going to argue with you, Henry ; 
but after such an act of disobedience, I cannot 
allow you to sit down to dinner with us. Go up 
to the school-room, and Mary shall bring you 
your dinner.’ 

‘ I’m sure I don’t want to dine with a lot of 
babies and governesses ! ’ exclaimed Henry, and 
bounced up-stairs, leaving Miss Fosbrook quite 
confounded at such an outbreak of naughtiness. 

She intended, as soon as dinner should be 
over, to go up to him, and try to lead him to be 
sorry for his conduct, and to think what a 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


149 


wretched moment this was for such audacity ; 
and then she feared that she ought to punish 
him farther, by keeping him in all the afternoon. 
He was so soft and easily impressed, that she 
almost trusted to make him feel that it would he 
right that he should suffer for his misconduct. 

When she went up-stairs, almost as soon as 
grace had been said, he was gone. Nobody 
could find him ; and calling produced no answer. 
She became quite distressed and anxious, but 
could not go far from the house herself, nor send 
Sam, in case the message should arrive. 

‘ Oh,* said Sam, ‘ no doubt he’s after some- 
thing with the Grevilles, and was afraid you 
would stop him in.’ 

She tried to believe this, hut still felt far 
from satisfied all the afternoon, and was glad to 
see the boy come back in time for tea. 

He said he had been with the Grevilles ; he 
did not see why anybody need ask him ques- 
tions ; he should do what he pleased without 
being called to account. Nobody told him not 
to run away after dinner ; and he was not going 
to stay to be ordered about for nothing. 

This was so bad a temper, that Christabel 
could not bear to try to touch him with the 
thought of his sick mother. She knew that 
softening must come in time, and believed the 
best thing to do at the moment would be to put 
a stop to his disrespectful speeches to her, and 
his cross ones to his brothers and sisters, by 
sending him to bed as soon as tea was over, as 
the completion of his punishment. He did not 


150 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


struggle, for she had taught him to mind her ; 
but he went up-stairs with a gloomy brow, and 
angry murmurs, that it was very hard to he put 
under a stupid woman, who knew nothing about 
anything, and was always cross. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Saturday’s post brought a letter, and a com- 
fortable one. All Thursday Mrs. Merrifield had 
been in so doubtful a state, that her husband 
could not bear to write, lest he should fill the 
children with false hopes, or alarm them still 
more ; but she had a good night, was stronger 
on Friday morning, and when the post went out, 
the doctors had just ventured to say that they 
believed she would recover favourably. The 
letter was finished off in a great hurry ; but 
Captain Merrifield did not forget to thank his 
little Susan warmly for her poor scrambling let- 
ter, and say he knew all she meant by it, bidding 
her give Miss Foshrook his hearty thanks for 
forwarding it, and for telling him the children 
were all behaving well, and feeling properly — 
his love to them all ; they must try to deserve 
the great mercy that had been granted to them. 

To the children, this was almost as good as 
saying that their mother was well again ; but 
there was too much awe about them for their joy 


THE STOKESLEY SECKET. 


151 


to show itself noisily. Susan ran away to her 
own room, and Bessie followed her, and Sam 
said no word, only Miss Fosbrook remarked that 
he did not eat two mouthfuls of breakfast. She 
would not take any notice ; she knew his heart 
was full ; and when she looked round on that 
little flock, and thought of the grievous sorrow 
scarcely yet averted from them, she could hardly 
keep the tears from blinding her. They were 
all somewhat still and grave, and it was too 
happy a morning to be broken into by the re- 
proofs that Henry deserved, even more richly 
than Christabel knew. She had almost forgotten 
his bad behaviour ; and when she remembered 
something of it, she could not but hope that 
silence, on such a day as this, might bring it 
home to him more than rebuke. Yet when 
breakfast was over, he was among the loudest 
of those who, shaking off the strange awed 
gravity of deep gladness, went rushing together 
into the garden, feeling that they might give 
way to their spirits again. 

Sam shouted and whooped as if he were cast- 
ing ofi* a burthen, and picking little George up in 
his arms, tossed him, and swung him round in 
the air in an ecstasy ; while John and Annie 
and David went down on the grass together, and 
tumbled and rolled one over the other like three 
kittens, their legs and arms kicking about, so 
that it was hard to tell whose property were the 
black shoes that came wriggling into view. 

Susan was quieter. She told nurse, the good 
news, and then laid hold upon baby, and carried 


152 


THE STOKESLET SECRET. 


her off into the passage to hug all to herself. 
She could tell no one hut baby how very happy 
she was, and how her heart had trembled at her 
mother’s suffering, her father’s grief, and at the 
desolateness that had so nearly come on them. 
Oh, she was very happy, very thankful ; but she 
could not scream it out like the others, baby 
must have it all in kisses. 

‘ Christabel,’ said a little voice, when all the 
others were gone, ‘ I shall never be pipy again.* 

‘ You must try to fight against it, my dear.’ 

‘Because,’ said Elizabeth, coming close up 
to her, ‘ when dear mamma was so ill, it did seem 
so silly to mind about not having pretty things 
like Ida, and the boys plaguing, and so on.’ 

‘Yes, my dear, a real trouble makes us 
ashamed of our little discontents.’ 

‘ I said so many times yesterday, and the 
day before, that I would never mind things 
again, if only mamma would get well and come 
home,’ said the little girl, ‘ and I never shall.’ 

‘ You will not always find it easy not to 
mind,’ said Christabel ; ‘ but if you try hard, 
you will learn how to keep from showing that 
you mind.’ 

‘ Oh !’ said Elizabeth, (and a great mouthful 
of an oh it was,) ‘ those things are grown so silly 
and little now.’ 

‘ You have seen them in their true light for 
once, my dear. And now that you have so * 
great cause of thankfulness to God, you feel that 
your foolish frets and discontents were unthank- 
ful.’ 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


153 


Yes,’ said Bessie, her eyes cast down, as 
they always were when anything of this kind 
was said to her, as if she did not like to meet 
the look fixed on her. 

‘Well then, Bessie, try to make the giving 
up of these murmurs your thank-ofiering to God. 
Suppose every day when you say your prayers, 
you were to add something like this — * and she 
wrote down on a little bit of paper, ‘ 0 Thou 
who hast raised up my mother from her sickness, 
teach me to be a thankful and contented child, 
and to guard my words and thoughts from 
peevishness.’ 

‘ Isn’t it too small to pray about V said 
Elizabeth. 

‘ Nothing is too small to pray about, my 
dear. Do you think this little midge is too 
small for God to have made it, and given it life, 
and spread that mother-of-pearl light on its 
wings'? Do you think yourself too small to 
pray ? or your fault too small to pray about V 

Elizabeth cast down her eyes. She did not 
quite think it was a fault, but she did not say 
so. 

‘ Bessie, what was the great sin of the Israel- 
ites in the wilderness *?’ 

The colour on her cheek showed that she 
knew. 

‘ They tempted God by murmurs,’ said Chris- 
tabel. ‘ They tried His patience by grumbling, 
when His care and blessings were all round 
them, and by crying out because all was not just 
as they liked. Now, dear Bessie, God has shown 


154 


THE STOKESLET SECRET. 


you what a real sorrow might he, will it not be 
tempting Him to go back to complaints over 
what He has ordained for you V 

‘ I shall not complain now ; I shall not care,’ 
said Elizabeth. But she took the little hit of 
paper, and Christahel trusted that she would 
make use of it, knowing that in this lay her hope 
of cure ; for whatever she might think in this 
first joy of relief, her little troubles were sure 
to seem quite as unbearable while they were 
upon her, as if she had never feared a great 
one. 

However, nothing remarkable happened ; 
every one was bright and happy ; but still the 
influence of their past alarm subdued them 
enough to make them quiet and well behaved, 
both on Saturday and Sunday ; and Miss 
Fosbrook had never had so little trouble with 
them. 

In consideration of this, and of the agitation 
and unsettled state that had put the last week 
out of all common rules, she announced on Mon- 
day morning, that she would excuse all the 
fines, and that all the children should have their 
allowance unbroken. Maybe she was move^ to 
this by the suspicion that these four sixpences 
and three threepennies would make up the fund 
to the price of ‘a reasonable pig;’ and she 
thought it time that David’s perseverance should 
be rewarded, and room made in his mind for 
something beyond swine and halfpence. 

Her announcement was greeted by the girls 
with eager thanks, by the boys with a tremen- 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


155 


dous ‘ Three times three for Miss Fosbrook/ 
and Bessie was so joyous, that instead of crying 
out against the noise, she joined in with Susan 
and Annie ; but they made such a ridiculous 
little squeaking, that Sam laughed at them, and 
took to mocking their queer thin hurrahs. Yet 
even this Elizabeth could bear ! 

David was meanwhile standing by the locker, 
his fingers at work as if he were playing a tune, 
his lips counting away, ‘Ninety-two, ninety- 
three, ninety-four — that’s me ; ninety-five, ninety- 
six, ninety-seven — that’s Jack,’ and so on ; till 
having plodded up diligently, he turned round 
with a little scream, ‘ one hundred and twenty ! 
that’s the pig !’ 

‘ What V cried Annie. 

‘One hundred and twenty pence. Sukey 
said one hundred and twenty pence were ten 
shillings. That will do it ! That’s the pig ! 
Oh, we’ve done it ! May I take it to Purday T 

‘ It was to be let alone till fair- day, you little 
bother,’ said Hal. 

‘ No, no, no,’ cried many voices, ‘ only till we 
had enough.’ 

‘ And I am sure nobody knows if we have,’ 
added Hal hotly. ‘ A lot of halfpence, indeed ! * 

‘ But I know, Hal,’ insisted David. ‘ There 
are eighty-nine pence and one farthing in Toby 
Fillpot, and this makes one hundred and twenty- 
two pence and one farthing.’ 

‘ You’d no business to peep,’ said Sam. 

‘I didn’t peep,’ said David indignantly. 
‘ There were forty-eight pence at first, and then 


156 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


Susie had three, that was fifty-one — ’ And lie 
would have gone on like a little calculating ma- 
chine, with the entire reckoning in his head, if 
the others had had patience to hear ; but Annie 
and Johnnie were urgent to have the sum count- 
ed out before their eyes. Hal roughly declared 
it was against the rules, and little inquisitives . 
must not have their way. But others were also 
inquisitive ; and Sam said it would be best to 
know how much they had, that Purday might 
be told to look out for a pig at the price ; be- 
sides, he wanted to have it over ; it was such a 
bore not to have any money. 

‘ It’s not fair ! ’ cried Henry passionately. 

‘ You don’t keep the rules ! You sha’n’t have 
my sixpence, I can tell you ; and I won’t — I 
won’t stay and see it.’ 

‘ Nobody wants you,’ said Sam. 

‘ I didn’t know there were any rules,’ said 
the girls ; but Hal was already off. 

‘ Hal has only put in fourpence-halfpenny,’ 
said David, ‘ so no wonder he is ashamed. Such 
a big boy with sixpence a week ! But if he 
won’t let us have his sixpence now’ — 

‘ Never mind, we will make it up next week,’ 
said Susan. 

‘Now, then, who will take Toby down?’ 
said Miss Fosbrook, unbuttoning one glass door, 
and undoing the two bolts of the second, behind 
which the cup of money stood. 

‘ Susie ought, because she is the eldest.’ 

‘ Davie ought, because he is the youngest.’ 

David stood on a chair to take Toby off his 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET, 157 

shelf. Solemn was the face with which the 
little boy lifted the mug by the handle, putting 
his other hand to steady the expected weight of 
coppers ; but there was at once a frown, a little 
cry of horror. Toby came up so light in his 
hand, that all his great effort was thrown away, 
and only made him stagger back in dismay, 
falling backward from the chair, and poor Toby 
crashing to pieces on the floor as he fell, while 
out rolled — one solitary farthing 1 

Nobody spoke for some moments ; but all 
stood perfectly still, staring as hard as if they 
hoped the pence would be brought out by force 
of looking for them. 

Then David’s knuckles went up into his eyes, 
and he burst forth in 'a loud bellow. It was the 
first time Miss Fosbrook had heard him cry, and 
she feared that he had been hurt by the fall, or 
cut by the broken crockery ; but he struck out 
with foot and fist, as if his tears were as much 
anger as grief, and roared out, ‘ I want the 
halfpence for my pig ! ’ 

‘ Sam, Sam,’ cried Susan, ‘ if you have hid 
them for a trick, let him have them,’ 

‘ I — I play tricks now ! ’ exclaimed Sam in 
indignation. ‘ No, indeed ! ’ 

‘ Then perhaps Hal has,’ said Elizabeth. 

‘ For shame, Bessie,’ cried Sam. 

* I only know,’ said Elizabeth, half in self- 
defence, half in fright, ‘ that one of you must 
have been at the baby-house, for I found the 
doors open, and shut them up.’ 

‘ And why should it be one of us ? ’ demand- 


158 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


ed Sam, while David stopped crying, and list* 
ened. 

‘ Because none of the younger ones can reach 
to undo the doors,’ said Elizabeth. ‘ It was as 
much as I could do to reach the upper bolt, 
though I stood upon a chair.’ 

This was evident ; for the baby-house was 
really an old-fashioned bureau, and below the 
glass doors there was a projecting slope of pol- 
ished walnut, upon which only a fly could stand, 
and which was always locked. No one whoso 
years were less than half a score, was tall enough 
to get a good hold of the button, even from the 
highest chair, far less to jerk down the rather 
stiff upper bolt. 

‘ It cannot have been a little one, certainly/ 
said Miss Fosbrook ; ‘ but you should not be so 
ready to accuse your brothers, Bessie.* 

David, however, had laid hold of a hope, 
and getting up from the floor, hastened out of 
the room, followed by John ; and they were 
presently heard shouting ‘Hal,’ all over tho 
house. 

‘ What day was it that you found the door 
open, Bessie ? ’ asked Miss Fosbrook. 

‘ It was just after dinner,’ said Elizabeth, 
recollecting, herself. ‘ It was on Friday. Yes, 
I remember it was Friday, because I went into 
the school-room to get my pencil, and I was 
afraid Hal would jump out upon me, and looked 
in first to see whether he was going to be tire- 
some ; but he was gone.’ 

‘ Yes,’ said Susan ; ‘ it was the day we fomid 


THE STOKESLET SECRET. 


159 


poor Jack stuck up on the gate, when he and 
Hal were in disgrace. Oh, he never would have 
played tricks then.’ 

‘Did you go up before me, Bessie 1 ’ asked 
Miss Fosbrook; ‘for I went up directly after 
dinner to speak to Henry.’ 

‘Yes, I did,’ said she. ‘ I thought if you 
got in first, you would be scolding him ever so 
long, and would let nobody in, so I would get 
my pencil first; and I slipped up before you 
had left the table.’ 

Just then the two boys were heard stump- 
ing up the stairs, and ran in, panting with haste 
and excitement, David with a fiery red ear. 

‘ No, no ; Hal didn’t hide it ! ’ 

‘But he boxed David’s ears for thinking he 
did,’ added John, ‘ and said he’d do the same for 
spiteful Bet ! ’ 

‘ Then he never played tricks,’ said Susan. 

‘ I told you not,’ said Sam. 

‘ No,’ reiterated David ; ‘ and he said I’d no 
business to ask ; and if Bet went prying about 
everywhere. I’d better ask her. Have you got 
it, Betty ? ’ 

‘ I ! ’ cried Elizabeth. ‘ How can you, Davie ! ’ 

‘You have got a secret,’ exclaimed David; 
‘ and you always were cross about Hannah Hig- 
gins’s pig. You have got it to teaze me ! Miss 
Fosbrook, make her give it back.’ 

‘Nonsense, David,’ said Miss Fosbrook; 
‘ Bessie is quite to be trusted ; and it is wrong 
to make unfounded accusations.’ 

‘ Never mind, Betty, added Sam kindly ; if 


160 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


Davie wasn’t a little donkey, he wouldn’t say 
such things.’ 

‘ Where is Henry ? ’ asked the governess. 
‘ Why did he not come himself? Call him ; I 
want to know if he observed this door being 
open.’ 

‘He is gone down to Mr. Carey’s,’ said 
John. 

‘ And it is high time you were there too, 
Sam,’ said Miss Fosbrook, starting. ‘ If you 
are late, beg Mr. Carey’s pardon for me, and 
tell him that I kept you.’ 

Sam was obliged to run off at full speed ; 
and the other children stood about, still aghast 
and excited. Miss Fosbrook, however, told 
them to take out their books. She would not 
do anything more till she had had time to think, 
and had composed their minds and her own ; for 
she was exceedingly shocked, and felt herself 
partly in fault, for having left the hoard in an 
unlocked cupboard. She feared to do anything 
hastily, lest she should bring suspicion on the 
innocent ; and she thought all would do better 
if time were given for settling down. All were 
disappointed at thus losing the excitement, fan- 
cying perhaps that instant search and inquiry 
would hunt up the money ; and David put him- 
self quite into a sullen fit. No, he would not 
turn round, nor read, nor do anything, unless 
Miss Fosbrook would make stingy Bet give up 
the pence. 

Miss Fosbrook and Susan both tried to argue 
with him ; but he had set his mind upon one 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


161 


point so vehemently, that it was making him 
absolutely stupid to everything else ; and he 
was such a little boy, (only five years old,) that 
his mind could hardly grasp the exceeding un- 
likelihood of a girl like Elizabeth committing 
such a theft, either in sport or earnest, nor un- 
derstand the injury of such a suspicion. He 
only knew that she had a secret — a counter 
secret to his pig ; and when she hotly assured 
him that she had never touched the money, and 
Susan backed her up with, ‘ There, she says she 
did not,’ he answered, ‘ She once told a story.’ 

Elizabeth coloured deep red, and Susan cried 
out loudly that it was a shame in David ; then 
explained that it was a long, long time ago, that 
Hal and Bessie broke the drawing-room window 
by playing at ball with little hard apples, and 
had not told, but when questioned, had said, 
‘ No ; ’ but indeed they had been so sorry then, 
that she knew they would never do so again. 

Again David showed that he could not enter 
into this, and sulkily repeated, ‘She told a 
story.’ 

‘ I will have no more of this,’ said Christabel 
resolutely. You are all working yourselves 
up into a bad spirit : and not another word will 
I hear on this matter till lessons are over.’ 

That tone was always obeyed ; but lessons 
did not prosper ; the children were all restless 
and unsettled ; and David, hitherto for his age, 
her best scholar, took no pains, and seemed ab- 
solutely stupefied. What did he care for fines, if 
the chance of the pig was gone ? And he was 


162 


THE 6T0KESLEY SECRET. 


sullenly angry with Miss Fosbrook for using no 
measures to recover the money, fancied she did 
not care, and remembered the foolish nursery 
talk about her favouring Bessie. 

Once Miss Fosbrook heard a little gasping 
from the corner, and looking round, saw poor 
Bessie crying quietly over her slate, and trying 
hard to check herself. She would not have no- 
ticed her, though longing to comfort her, if 
David had not cried out, ‘ Bet is crying ! A 
fine ! ’ 

‘ No,’ said Miss Fosbrook ; ‘ but a fine for 
an ill-natured speech that has made her cry.’ 

‘ She has got the pig’s money,’ muttered 
David. 

‘Say that again, and I shall punish you, 
David.’ 

He looked her full in the face, and said it 
again. 

She was thoroughly roused to anger, and 
kept her word by opening the door of a small 
dark closet, and putting David in till dinner- 
time. 

Then she and Susan both tried to soothe 
Bessie, by reminding her how childish David 
was, how he had caught up some wwd that 
probably Hal had flung out without meaning it, 
and how no one of any sense suspected her for 
a moment. 

‘ It is so ill-natured and hard,’ sobbed Bes- 
sie. ‘ To think I could steal ! I think they hate 
me.’ 

‘ Ah,’ said Susan, ‘ if you only would never 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


163 


be cross to the boys, Bessie, and not keep out of 
what they care for, they would never think it.’ 

‘ Yes, Susie is right there,’ said Christabel. 
‘ If you try to be one with the others, and make 
common cause with them, giving up and for- 
bearing, they never will take such things into 
their heads.’ 

‘And we don’t now,’ said Susan cheerily. 
‘ Didn’t you hear Sam say nobody but a donkey 
could think it % ’ 

‘ But Bessie has a secret ! ’ said Annie, 

Again stout Susan said, ‘ For shame ! ’ 

‘ ril tell you what my secret is,’ began 
Bessie. 

‘ No,’ said Susan, ‘ don’t tell it, dear ! We’ll 
trust you without, and Sam will say the same.’ 

Bessie flung her arms round Susan’s neck, as 
if she only now knew the comfort of her dear 
good sister. 

Lessons were resumed ; and as soon as these 
were done. Miss Fosbrook resolved on a thor- 
ough search. Some strange fit of mischief or 
curiosity might have actuated some one, and 
the money be hidden away ; so she brought 
David out of his cupboard, and with Susan’s 
help turned out every drawer and locker in the 
school-room, forbidding the others to touch or 
assist. They routed out queer nests of broken 
curiosities, disturbed old dusty dens of rubbish, 
peeped behind every row of books ; but made 
no discovery worth mentioning, except the left 
leg of Annie’s last doll, the stuffing of Johnnie’s 
ball, the tiger out of George’s Noah’s Ark, and 


164 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


the first sheet of Sam’s Latin Grammar, all stuffed 
together into a mouse-hole in the skirting. 

At dinner, Christabel forbade the subject to 
be mentioned, not only to hinder quarrelsome 
speeches, but to prevent the loss from being 
talked of among the servants ; since she feared 
that one of them must have committed the theft, 
and though anxious not to put it into the chil- 
dren’s heads, suspected Rhoda, the little nursery 
girl, who was quite a child, and had not long 
been in the house. 

Henry ate his dinner in haste, but could not 
get away till Miss Fosbrook had called him 
away from the rest, and told him that if he had 
been playing a trick on his little brother, it was 
time to put an end to it, before any innocent per- 
son fell under suspicion. 

‘ I ! I’ve been playing no tricks — at least — ’ 

‘ Without any at leasts Henry, have you hid- 
den the money ? ’ 

‘ No.’ 

‘ You dined in the school-room on Friday. 
Were the baby-house doors open then % ’ 

‘ I — I’m sure I didn’t notice.’ 

^ You didn’t open them to take anything 
out? ’ 

‘ What should I want with the things in the 
baby-house ? ’ 

‘ Hid you, or did ydu not ? ’ 

‘ I — I didn’t — at least — ’ 

‘ In one word, did you open them ? Yes or 
no.’ 

‘ No.’ 


THE stob:esley seceet. 


165 


* What time did you go out after eating 
your dinner ? ’ 

‘ Bother ! how is one to remember ? It’s 
all nonsense making such a fuss. The children 
fancied they put in ever so much more than they 
did, and very likely took out some.’ 

‘No; David’s reckoning was accurate. I 
wrote d<^wn all 1 knew of ; and I am sure none 
was taken out, for early that very morning I 
had put in a sixpence myself, and the cup was 
then full of coppers, with that little silver three- 
penny of David’s with the edge turned up, upon 
the top.’ 

‘ Then you must have left the door undone 1 ’ 
said Henry, delighted. 

‘ I dare not be positive,’ said Christabel ; 
‘ but I believe I remember bolting it ; and if I 
had not done so, it would have flown open 
sooner.’ 

‘ Oh, but the wind, you know.* 

‘ If the doors did open, it would not account 
for the loss of the money.’ 

‘ Well, I can’t help it,’ said Henry ungra- 
ciously, trying to move off ; but she first required 
him to tell her what he had said to the younger 
boys to make them suspect Elizabeth. 

‘ Did I ? ’ said Henry ; ‘ I am sure I didn’t ; 
at least, if I did, I only said Bess peeped every- 
where, and was very close. I didn’t suspect her, 
you know.’ 

‘ I should think not ! ’ said Miss Fosbrook 
indignantly. ‘ Now please to come up with me.’ 

‘ I want to go out,’ said Henry. 


166 


THJ2 STOKESLEY SECRET. 

No, sbe would upt let him go. She thought 
Elizabeth ought to clear herself, so far as it could 
be done, by making her secret known, since that 
had drawn suspicion on her ; and when all the 
children were together, she called the little girl 
and told her so. 

‘ It is very unkind of them,’ said Bessie, with 
trembling lip ; ‘ but they shall see if they want 
that to show I’m not a thief! ’ 

‘ I said I wouldn’t see,’ said Susan. ‘ You 
know, Bessie, I trust you.’ 

‘ And I,’ said Sam ; ‘ I don’t care for people’s 
secrets. I don’t want to pry into Bessie’s.’ 

No one followed their example ; all either 
really suspected, or else were full of curiosity, 
and delighted to gratify it. 

Half a dozen slips of card, with poor little 
coloured drawings on them, and as many lengths 
of penny ribbon ! 

‘ Is that all % ’ said Annie, much disap- 
pointed. 

‘ So that’s what Bet made such a fuss about,’ 
said John ; and David’s face fell, as if he had 
really expected to see the lost pence. 

■' The next thing, after the search had been 
made through all the children’s bed-rooms, was 
to go to the nursery ; and thither Miss Fosbrook 
allowed only Susan and Sam to follow her. 
Nurse Freeman was very stiff and stately, but 
she had no objection to searching ; and the boy 
and girl began the hunt, while Miss Fosbrook 
meantime cautiously asked whether nurse were 
sure of Khoda, and if she were trustworthy. 


THE STGKESLEY SECEET. 167 

This made Mrs. Freeman very angry ; and 
though her words were respectful, she showed 
that she was much offended at the strange lady 
presuming to suspect any one, especially one 
under her charge. 

Miss Fosbrook wanted to have asked Rhoda 
whether the doors were open or shut when she 
carried Henry his dinner, but nurse would not 
consent to call her. ‘ I understood the nursery 
and the girl was to be my province,’ she said. 

If Miss Merrifield heard her mamma say other- 
wise, then it is a different thing.’ 

Susan cowered into the dark cupboard. 
Hurse must be in a dreadful way to call her 
Miss Merrifield, instead of Missy ! 

Nothing more could be done. The pence 
-could not be found. Nurse would not let Rhoda 
be examined ; and all that could be found out 
from the children, had already been elicited. 

Christabel could only beg that no more should 
be said, and, her head aching with perplexity, 
hope that some light might yet be thrown on the 
matter. There must be pain and grief whenever 
it should be explained ; but this would be far 
better, even for the offender, than the present 
deception ; and the whole family were in a state 
of irritation and distrust, that hurt their tem- 
pers, and made her bitterly reproach herself with 
not having prevented temptation, by putting the 
hoard under lock and key. 

She ordered that no more should be said 
about it that evening, and made herself obeyed ; 
but play was dull, and everything went off 


168 


THE STOKESLET SECRET. 


heavily. The next morning Susan came back 
early from her housekeeping business, with her 
honest face grave and unhappy, and finding 
Miss Fosbrook alone, told her she had something 
really to say to her if she might ; and this being 
granted, began, with the bright look of having 
found a capital notion.: ‘I’ll tell you what 1 
wish you would do.’ 

‘Welir 

‘ If you would call every one in all the house, 
and ask them on their word and honour if they 
took the pence.’ 

‘ My dear, I am not the head of the house, 
and I have no right to do that ; besides, I do 
not believe it would discover it.’ 

‘ What ! could a thief get in from out of 
doors ? ’ said Susan, looking at the window. 

‘ Hardly that, my dear ; but I am afraid a 
person who could steal, would not scruple to tell 
a falsehood, and I do not wish to cause this ad- 
ditional sin.’ 

‘ It is very horrid ; I can’t bear it,’ said 
Susan, puckering up her face for tears. ‘ Do 
you know. Miss Fosbrook, the maids are all so 
angry that you said anything about Khoda.’ 

‘ You did not mention it, my dear? ’ 

‘ Oh, no ; nor Sam. It was nurse herself ! 
But they all say that you want to take away her 
character ; and they won’t have strangers put 
over them.’ 

‘ Pray, Susie, don’t tell me this. It can do 
no good.’ 

‘ Oh, but jplease ! ’ cried Susan. ‘ And then 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 169 

Mary — I can’t think how she could— but she 
said that poor dear Bessie was always sly, and 
that she had been at the cupboard, and had got 
the pence ; but she was your favourite, and so 
you vindicated her. And nurse began teazing 
her to confess, and tell the truth, and told her 
she was a wicked child because she would not ; 
but it was all because we were put under 
strangers! I’m sure they do set on Johnnie 
and Davie to be cross to her.’ 

‘ When was this, my dear ? ’ 

‘ Last night, when we went to the nursery to 
be washed. It was our night, you know. Oh ! 
I wish mamma was well.’ 

‘ Indeed I do, my dear. And how did poor 
Bessie bear it ? ’ 

‘ She got quite white, and never said a word, 
even when they told her she was sulky. But 
when we got into bed, and I kissed her and cud- 
dled her up, oh ! she did cry so ; I didn’t know 
what to do. So, do you know, I got my shawl 
on, and went and called Sam ; and he was not 
gone to sleep, and he came and sat by her, and 
told her that he believed her, and knew she was 
as sound a heart of oak as any of us ; and we 
both petted her, and Sam was so nice and kind, 
till she went to sleep. Then he Went to the nur- 
sery, and told nurse how horrid it was in her ; 
but cook says it only made her worse, because 
she is jealous of our taking part with you.’ 

‘ My dear, I do like to hear of your kindness 
to Bessie ; but I wish you would not mind what 

10 


170 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


any of the maids say, nor talk to them about it. 

It only distresses you for nothing.^ 

‘ But I can’t help it,’ said Susan. 

‘ You could not help this attack in the nur- 
sery, but you need not talk to cook or Mary 
about it. It is of no use to vex ourselves with 
what people say, who don’t know half the story.’ 

‘Can’t you tell them not?’ said simple 
Susan. 

‘ No, I cannot interfere. They would only 
do it the more. We can only keep Bessie as 
much out of the way of the maids as we can, and 
show our confidence in her.’ 

Certainly Elizabeth had been known to look 
infinitely more glum, when nothing was the 
matter, than under all this vexation, even 
though the servants were really very unkind to 
her ; and her two little brothers both behaved ' 
as ill as possible to her whenever they had the 
opportunity — David really believing that she 
had made away with the money, and ought to 
be tortured for it; and Johnnie taking it on 
his word, and being one of those little boys who 
have a positive taste for ill-nature, and think it 
fun. They pinched her, they bit her, they 
rubbed out her sums, they shut up her lesson- 
books and lost her place, they put bitten crusts 
into her plate, and did whatever they knew she 
most disliked, whenever Miss Fosbrook or Sam 
was not in the way ; but she never told. She 
did not choose to be called a tell-tale; and 
besides, they really did not succeed in making 
her life miserable, so much was she pleased with 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


171 


the real kindness her trouble had brought out 
from Susan and Sam. Susan could not prevent 
the persecution of the two naughty little boys, 
but she defended her sister to her utmost ; and 
Sam cuffed them if they said a word or lifted a 
finger against Bessie before him ; and he gave 
her such notice and kindness as she never had 
received from him before. One afternoon, when 
he was going to walk to Bonchamp, he asked 
leave for her to come with him, and would take 
nobody else ; and hot day as it was, Bessie had 
never had such a charming walk. She kept her- 
self from making one single fuss ; and in return, 
he gathered wild strawberries for her, showed 
her a kingfisher, and took her to look in at a 
very grand aquarium in the fishing-tackle maker’s 
window, where she saw some gold-fish, and a 
most comical little newt. And going home, 
they had a real good talk about their father’s 
voyage, and how they should get on without 
him ; and Bessie found to her great pleasure 
that Sam hoped Miss Fosbrook would stay when 
mamma came home. 

‘ For I do think she has put some sense into 
you, Bessie,’ said Sam. 

She was so delighted, that instead of pre- 
paring to fret if Sam did but hold up a finger 
at her, she looked up with a smile when he came 
in her way, sure of protection, and expecting 
something pleasant, as well as thinking it an 
honour to be asked to help him in anything. 
The next day, when Mr. Carey had insisted on 
his verifying by the map all the towns which he 


172 THE STOKESLEY SECKET. 

had been contented to say were in Asia Minor, 
(where every place in ancient history is always 
put if its whereabouts be doubtful,) she saved 
him so much time and trouble, that he got out 
into the garden full half an hour earlier than he 
would otherwise have done. Thereupon he told 
her she was a jolly good fellow, and gave her 
such a thump on the back, as a few weeks ago 
would have made her scream and whine; but 
this time she took it as a new form of thanks, 
and felt highly honoured by being invited to 
help him fish for minnows, though it almost made 
her sick to stick the raw meat upon his hooks. 

The threatening of a true sorrow, the bear- 
ing a real trouble, and the opening to her 
brother’s kindness, had done far more to make 
her a happy little girl, than all Miss Fosbrook’s 
attempts to satisfy her cravings or please her 
tastes. These had indeed done her some good, 
and taught her to find means of enjoyment for 
those likings that no one else cared for ; but it 
had been the spirit of delight that had been 
chiefly wanting ; and when thankfulness and 
love were leading her to that, it w^as much 
easier to see that the evening clouds or the 
rising moon were lovely, than when she was 
looking out for affronts. 

Nothing was said in public about the loss ; 
and Christabel hoped that the bad impression 
as to Elizabeth would wear out in the young 
minds of the lesser children ; but David’s whole 
nature seemed to have been disorganized by the 
disappointment. Instead of being a pattern 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


173 


child for diligence and good behaviour, very 
fond of Miss Fosbrook, and not only inoffensive, 
but often keeping John and Annie in order, he 
seemed absolutely stupid and senseless at les- 
sons, became stubborn at reproof, seemed to 
take pleasure in running counter to his gov- 
erness, and rendered the other two, who though 
his elders, were both of w^eak natures compared 
'with his own, more openly naughty than him- 
self. Sometimes it seemed to Christabel that 
the habit of spiting Bessie was getting so con- 
firmed, that it would last even when the cause 
was forgotten ; and yet the more she strove to 
put it down in sight, the more it throve out of 
sight ; and when she looked at David, and 
thought how she had once admired him, she 
could not but remember the text that says, 
‘ Thy goodness is as the morning cloud, and as 
the dew shall it vanish away.’ She had thought 
it goodness based upon religious feeling, as well 
as on natural gravity and orderliness ; and so 
perhaps it had once been, but the little fellow 
had fixed his whole soul on one purpose, and 
though that was a good one, it had grown into 
an idol, and swallowed up all his other motives, 
till of late he had only been good for the sake 
of the pig, not because it was right. Being dis- 
appointed of the pig, he had nothing to fall back 
upon, but felt himself so ill-used, that it seemed 
to hin\ that it was no use to be good ; and he 
revenged himself by naughtiness. 

Such sturdy strong characters as little 
David’s, when they are once set on the right 


174 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


object, come to the very best kind of goodness ; 
but when they take a wrong turn, they are the 
very worst, both for themselves and others. 


CHAPTEE XIII. ' 

The Monday after the loss of the pence was 
a pouring wet day. The whole court was like a 
flood, and the drops went splashing up again as 
if in play ; Purday wore his master’s old south- 
wester coat, and looked shiny all over ; and 
when the maids had to cross the court, they 
went click, click, in their patterns, under their 
umbrellas. 

But it was baking day, and Susan and Annie 
had been down to coax the cook into making 
them a present of a handsome allowance of 
dough, and Miss Fosbrook into letting them 
manipulate it in the school-room. Probably 
this was the only way of preventing the dough 
from being turned into bullets, and sent flying 
at each other’s eyes, or possibly plastered on 
somebody’s nose, and the cook and kitchen-maid 
from being nearly driven crazy. 

The dough was justly divided, and an estab- 
lishment set up in each locker. Bessie declined 
altogether ; Sam had lent her his beautiftil book 
of ‘ The British Songsters,’ and she was hard at 
work at the table copying a tom-tit, since she. -; 
no longer carried on the work in secret ; but at *' 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


175 


one locker were the other three elders, at the 
other the three lesser ones, and little George in a 
corner by Susan, pegging away at his own private 
lump, and constantly begging for more. Susan’s 
ambition was to make a set of real twists, just 
like cook’s ; and she pulled out and twisted and 
plaited, though often robbed of her dough by 
the two boys, whose united efforts were endeav- 
ouring to produce a likeness of Purday, with his 
hat on his head, plums for eyes, a pipe in his 
mouth, and driving a cow; but unluckily his 
neck always got pinched off, and his arms would 
not stay on ! No matter; the more moulding 
of that soft dough the better! Johnnie and 
Annie had a whole party of white clammy ser- 
pents, always being set to bite one another, and 
to melt into each other ; and David was hard at 
work on a brood of rabbits wdth currant eyes, 
and would let no one interfere with him. 

‘Didn’t I hear something?’ asked Bessie, 
looking up. 

‘ Oh, it’s only the roller,’ said Sam ; ‘ Purday 
always rolls on a wet day.’ 

Something, however, made the whole party 
of little bakers hold up their heads to listen. 
There was a gleam on their faces, as a quick 
alert step sounded on the stairs, and Bessie, the 
nearest to the door, and not cramped like the 
rest, who yere sitting on their heels, sprang for- 
ward and opened it with a scream of joy. 

There he was — the light, alert, weather- 
. beaten man, with his loose wavy hair, and bright 
‘'sailor face! There was papa! Oh, the hurly- 


176 


THE. STOKESLEY SECRET, 


burly of children, tumbling up as well as they 
could on legs crooked under them, and holding I 
out great fans of floury doughy paws, all coming | 
to be hugged in his arms in turn, so that before 
he had come to the end of the eight in presence^ ! 
Bessie had had time to whisk off to the nursery^ 
snatch baby up from before nurse’s astonished 
eyes, rush down with her, and put her into his 
arms. But baby had forgotten him, and was 
taken with such a fit of screaming shyness, that 
Susan had to take her, and Annie to play bo- 
peep with her, before she would let any one’s 
voice be heard. 

‘ I’ve taken you by surprise. Miss Fosbrook,’’ 
said the captain, shaking hands with her in the 
midst of the clatter. 

‘ Oh, it is such a pleasure ! ’ she began. ‘ I 
hope you left Mrs. Merrifield much better.’ 

‘ Much better, much better, thank you. I 
hope to find her on the sofa when I go back on 
Thursday. I could only run down for a few 
days, just to settle things, and see the children,, 
before I join the Eamilies. Admiral Penrose 
very good-naturedly kept it open for me, till we 
could tell how she was,’ said the captain, with 
rather a trembling voice. 

‘Then you are going; oh. Papa!’ said Su- 
san, looking up at him; ‘and baby will not 
know you till — ’ 

‘ Hold your tongue, Miss Croaker,’ said the 7, 
captain, roughly but kindly ; and Miss Fosbrook 
could see that he was as much afraid of crying 
himself as of letting Susan cry ; ‘ I’ve no- time j ^ 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


177 


for tliat. IVe got a gentleman on business 
down-stairs, and your Uncle John, and I must 
go down to them again. We shan’t want din- 
ner ; only, Sue, tell them to send in some eggs 
and bacon, or cold meat, or whatever there may 
be, for tea ; and get a room ready for your 
uncle.’ 

He would have gone, but Susan called out, 
‘ Oh, Papa, may we drink tea with you, Georgy 
and all ? ’ 

‘ Yes, to be sure, if you won’t make a bear 
fight any of you, for your uncle.’ 

‘ Mayn’t I come down with you ? ’ added 
Sam, looking at him as if he wanted to make 
the most of every moment of that presence. 

‘ Better not, my boy,’ said the captain ; ^ I’ve 
got law business to settle, and we don’t want 
you. Better stay and make yourselves decent 
for tea-time. Mamma’s love, and she hopes 
you’ll not drive Uncle John distracted.’ And 
he was gone. 

‘ Bother Uncle John ! ’ first muttered Sam, (I 
am sorry to say.) 

‘ I can’t think what he’s come for,’ sighed 
Annie. 

‘ To spoil our fun,’ suggested Johnnie dis- 
consolately. 

‘ To take Sam to school,’ added Hal, ‘ while 
I go to sea.’ 

‘ You don’t know that you are going,’ said 
Elizabeth. ‘ Papa said nothing about it.’ 

‘ Oh ! but I know I shall Admiral Penrose 
promised.’ 


178 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


‘ You know a great many things that don’t 
happen. You knew Colonel Carey would give 
you two sovereigns.’ 

Henry looked as if he could bite. 

‘Well, I shall finish Purday,’ said Sam, turn- 
ing away with a sigh, ‘ and they shall have him 
for tea.’ 

‘ Tea will be no fun,’ repeated Annie. ‘ O 
dear ! what does Uncle John come here for V 

‘ May not he come to be with his brother ? ’ 
suggested Christabel. 

‘ Oh ! hut they are grown up,’ said Annie. ’ 

‘ Can’t he have him in London without com- 
ing here to worry us in our little time ? ’ added 
Johnnie. 

‘ Perhaps he will not worry you.’ 

‘ Oh ! but — they all cried, and stopped short. 

‘ He plagues about manners,’ said Annie. 

‘He wanted Susie and me to be sent to 
school ! ’ said Bessie. 

‘ He said it was like dining with young Hot- 
tentots.’ 

‘ He told papa it was disgraceful when we 
had all been sliding on the great pond in the 
village,’ added Annie. 

‘ And he gave Sam a box on the ear for only 
just taking a dear little river cray-fish in his 
fishing-net to show Aunt Alice.’ 

‘ The net was dripping wet,’ observed Bessie. 

‘ Yes,’ said Annie ; ‘ but Aunt Alice is so 
finikin and fidgety ; she never wets her feet, and 
can’t get over a stile, and is afraid of a cow, and 
he wants us all to be like her.’ 


TUE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


179 


‘And he makes papa and mamma mind 
things that they don’t mind by nature,’ said 
Susan. 

‘Mamma always tells us to be good, and 
never play at hockey in the house when he’s 
there,’ said Annie. 

‘ She has not told us so this time,’ said John 
triumphantly. 

‘ No, but we must mind all the same,’ said 
Susan ; and Sam silenced some independent 
murmurs, about not minding Uncle John, by 
saying it was minding mamma. 

Miss Fosbrook herself was a little alarmed, 
for she gathered that mamma was in some fear 
of this terrible uncle, that he had much influ- 
ence with his brother, and was rather a severe 
judge of the young family. She sincerely hoped 
that he would not find things much amiss, for 
the honest goodness of the two eldest had won 
so much regard from her, that she could not 
bear them to be under any cloud ; and indeed 
she felt as if the whole flock were her own prop- 
erty, as well as her charge, and that she, as well 
as they, were about to be tried. She would 
have felt it all fair and just before their kindly 
father, but it seemed hard that all should be 
brought before the schoolmaster uncle, and she 
was disposed to be tender for her children, and 
exceedingly anxious as to the efiect they might 
produce. She was resolved that the captairi 
should hear of the affair of the pence, but the 
presence of his brother would make the speak- 
ing a much greater effort. Meantime, she saw 


180 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


that all the fingers were clean, and all the hair 
brushed, She flattered herself that Susan’s 
yellow locks had learnt that it was the business 
of hair to keep tidy, and had been much less 
unmanageable of late, but she had her fears that 
they would ruffle up again, when their owner, 
at the head of a large detachment, rushed out 
to take the ‘fancy bread’ out of the oven, and 
she came half-way down-stairs in case it should 
be necessary to capture them, and brush them 
over again. 

While thus watching, the door of the dining- 
room (the only down-stairs room in order) opened 
suddenly, and the captain came forth. ‘ 0 Miss 
Fosbrook,’ he said, ‘ please come in here ; I was 
just coming to look for you. My brother — Miss 
Fosbrook.’ 

To her surprise. Miss Fosbrook received a 
very pleasant civil greeting from a much younger 
man than she had expected to see, looking per- 
haps more stern about the mouth and sharp 
about the eye than his elder brother, and his 
clerical dress very precise ; but somehow, he was 
so curiously like his niece, Elizabeth, that she 
thought that his particularity might spring from 
the same love of refinement. 

‘ All going on well ? ’ asked the captain. 

‘ Fairly well,’ she answered. ‘ Sam and 
Susan are most excellent children. There is 
only one matter on which I should like to speak 
to you at some time when it might suit you.’ 

‘ Is it about this ? ’ he said, putting into her 
hand a sheet written in huge round hand in pen- 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


181 


cil, no words misspelt, but the breaks in them 
at the end of the lines perfectly regardless of 
syllables. 

My dear Papa, 

Please let me 
have a poll 
ceman. Bet h 
as got at toby 
and stole our 
pence which was 
for a secret. Nu 
rse says she is a 
favourite and Miss 
Fosbrook will not 
find them. 

Your affectionate son 
David Douglas Merrifield. 

‘ Oh ! this was the letter David insisted on 
sealing before I put it into mine,’ exclaimed Miss 
Fosbrook, as soon as she had made out the 
words. ‘We have been in great trouble at the 
loss, but we agreed not to write to you because 
you had so much on your mind.’ 

‘ Is Bessie in fault 1 ’ 

‘ No, no, none of us believe it ; but I am 
very anxious that you should make an investi- 
gation, for the maids suspect her, and have made 
the younger children da so.’ 

‘ And who is Toby ? ’ 

‘ Toby is only a jug, called Toby Fillpot, I 
believe, shaped like a man.’ 

‘ I know ! ’ put in Mr. John Merrifield, laugh- 
ing. ‘Don’t you remember him, Harry? We 
had the like in our time.’ 

‘ Well ! ’ interrogated the captain. 

11 


182 THE STOKESLET SECRET. 

‘ Just after you left home/ said Christabel, as 
shortly and clearly as she could, ‘ the children 
agreed to save their allowance to buy a pig for 
Hannah Higgins. They showed great perse- 
verance in their object, and by the third week, 
they had about seven shillings in this jug, which, 
to my grief and shame,* I let them keep in the 
glass cupboard, not locked, but one door bolted, 
the other buttoned. On Friday morning, the 
11th, I know the cup was full of coppers and 
silver, for I took it down to add something to it. 
On the next Monday morning the money was 
gone, all but one farthing.’ 

‘ Can you guess who took it ? ’ 

‘ I should prefer saying nothing till you have 
examined the children and servants for yourself.’ 

‘ Right ! ’ said the captain. ‘ Very well. I 
am sorry to treat you to a court-martial, John, 
but I must hold one after tea.’ 

Christabel pitied the children for having to 
speak before this formidable uncle, but there 
could be no help for it, since no other sitting- 
room was habitable, and there were torrents of 
rain out-of-doors. 

There was just time to show the glass cup- 
board and the shelf where Toby had stood, and 
to return to the dining-room, before the children 
began to stream in, and make their greetings to 
their uncle, Susan with George in one hand, and 
her plate of bakings in the other. Very fancy 
bread, indeed, it was, as Uncle John said ! The 
edge of Purday’s hat had been quite baked off, 
and one of his arms was gone ; he was black in 


TfiE STOK:ESLEf SECEHTT. 183 

the wrong places, and was altogether rather an 
uncomfortable-looking object. David’s brood 
of rabbits were much more successful, though 
the ears of many had fallen off. Uncle John 
was very much diverted, and took his full share 
of admiring and tasting the various perform- 
.ances. On the whole, the meal went off much 
better than Christabel had feared it would. She 
had really broken the children of many of the 
habits with which they used to make themselves 
disagreeable ; there was no putting of spoons 
into each other’s cups, nor reaching out with 
buttery fingers ; lips were wiped, and people 
sat still upon their chairs even if they fidgeted 
and sighed ; and there was only one slop made 
all tea-time, and that was by Johnnie, and not 
a very bad one. Indeed it might be hoped that 
Mr. Merrifield did not see it, for he was talking 
to Sam about the change of footpath that Mr. 
Greville was making. There was indeed no 
fun, but it might be doubted whether papa 
would have been in a mood for fun even had 
his brother not been there ; and Miss Fosbrook 
was rather glad there was nothing to make the 
children forgetful of propriety. 

As soon as Mary had carried off the tea- 
things and wiped the table. Uncle John put 
himself as much out of the way as he could be- 
hind the newspaper in the recess of the window, 
and Miss Fosbrook would have gone to the 
school-room, but Captain Merrifield begged her 
to stay. 

‘ 1 hear,’ he said, ‘ that a very unpleasant 


184 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


thing has taken place in my absence, and I wish 
to learn all that I can about it, that the guilty 
person may be brought to light, and the inno- 
cent cleared from any suspicion.’ 

The children looked at one another, wonder- 
ing how he had heard, or whether Miss Fos- 
brook had told him ; but this "was soon an- 
swered by his calling out, ‘ David, come here, 
and tell me what you meant by this letter.’ 

David walked stoutly to his father’s knee, 
nothing daunted, though his brothers muttered 
behind him, ‘ So he wrote ! ’ ‘ Little sneak ! ’ 
and, ‘ He knew no better.’ Not that it was 
wrong to lay the case before his father ; but 
boys had usually rather suffer injustice than 
make an accusation. 

‘ Why did you write this letter, David % ’ 
said his father. 

* Because I want my pence for the pig.’ 

‘ Tell me how you lost them.’ 

‘ Bess took them.’ 

Elizabeth sprung up, crimson, and with tears 
in her eyes, and Sam and Susan were both 
bursting out into an angry ‘ No, no ! ’ but their 
father made a sign to all to keep still and they 
obeyed, though each of the elder ones took hold 
of a hand of their sister, and squeezed it hard. 

* Did you see her take them % ’ asked the 
captain. 

‘No.’ 

‘Tlien why do you say she did? I don’t 
want to frighten you, David ; I only want to 
hear why you think she did so.’ 


THE ST0KE3LEY SECEET. 


185 


David was getting alarmed now, and his 
childish memory better retained the impression 
than what had produced it. He hung down his 
head, scraped one foot, and finding that he must 
answer, mumbled out at last, ‘ Nurse said it, 
and Hal,’ 

‘ Henry, come here. Did you accuse your 
sister to David % ’ 

‘ No ! ’ burst out Henry at once ; but there 
was a rounding of every one’s mouth to cry out 
Oh ! and he quickly added, in a hasty scared 
way, ‘ At least, when Davie came bothering 
me, I said he had better ask Betty, because she 
had been prying about, and meddling with the 
baby-house. I never meant that she had done 
it ; but Davie is such a little jackass ! ’ 

‘ Did you see her meddle with the baby- 
house ? ’ 

‘ She said that herself,’ muttered Henry. 

^ Yes, Papa,’ said Elizabeth, starting forward, 
‘ I did find the doors of the baby-house open, 
and shut them up, but I never touched anything 
in it ! Sam and Susie know I would not, and 
that I would not tell a story now; though I once 
did, you know, Papa ! ’ 

Captain Merrifield still kept his grave set 
face, and only asked, ‘ When did you find the 
doors open ? ’ 

* On Friday, Papa — Friday week — St. Bar- 
nabas’ day — just after dinner.’ 

‘ Was no one with you ? ’ 

‘ No, Papa,’ 

‘ You came up-stairs first ? ’ 


186 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


‘ Yes ; I wanted my pencil before — ’ and she 
stopped short. 

‘ Before what ? ’ 

‘ Before Miss Fosbrook went in to speak to 
Hal,’ said Elizabeth, getting red all over. 

‘ Hal had been dining in the school -room,’ 
said Miss Fosbrook, ‘ on account of a little bit 
of disobedience.’ 

Captain Merrifield looked keenly at Henry, 
who tried to return the look, but shuffled un- 
comfortably under it. 

‘Then Hal had been dining in the school- 
room ? Was he there when you came in ? ’ 

‘No.’ 

‘ Were the doors open when you were dining 
there, Henry ? ’ 

‘ N— no.’ 

‘ You are sure that you did not meddle with 
them ? ’ 

‘ I do not know why I should,’ said Henry 
hastily and confusedly. ‘ It is only the girls and 
the babies that have things there — and — and 
Miss Fosbrook herself had been at the cupboard 
in the morning ; why shouldn’t she have left it 
undone herself, and the doors got open ? ’ 

‘ No, no,’ cried Susan, ‘ if they aren’t fas- 
tened they always burst open directly ; and we 
never could have been in the room half the 
morning without noticing them.’ 

‘ Then you are certain that they were closed 
when you went down to dinner ? ’ 

Every one was positive that the great glass 
doors flying out must have made themselves 


THE STOKESLEY SECBET. 187 

observed in that room full of children, espe- 
cially as Susan remembered that she had been 
making a desk of the sloping part under them. 

‘ Does any one remember how long it was 
between Hal’s leaving the room and Bessy’s 
coming up ? ’ 

^ I don’t know when he went out,’ said all 
those who had been in the dining-room ; but 
there spoke up a voice, quite proud of having 
something to tell among the others. 

‘ I saw Hal go out, and Bessie come up di- 
rectly.’ 

‘ You, Johnnie ! How was that ? ’ 

‘ Miss Fosbrook made me dine in the nur- 
sery, Papa, because Hal and I had been riding 
on the new iron gate, to see if the telegraph 
would come in while the others were at church ; 
and then Hal ran away with the Grevilles, and 
I couldn’t get down till Sam came and helped 
me; and so Miss Fosbrook made me dine in 
the nursery ; and when I had done, I went and 
sat upon the top of the garret stairs, to watch 
when they came out from dinner, and ask if I 
might come down again.’ 

‘ And what did you see, Johnnie ? ’ 

‘ First I saw a wasp,’ said Johnnie, 

‘ Never mind the wasp. Did you see when 
Henry went out ? ’ 

‘ I saw him come in first,’ said J ohn, ‘ and 
Miss Fosbrook order him up, and say she would 
send him his dinner, and come and speak to him 
presently. So I watched to catch her when she 
was coming up to him, and I saw Mary bring 


188 THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 

him up some mince veal, and th*e last bit of the 
gooseberry pie ; and then very, very soon, he 
bolted right down stairs. I didn’t think he 
could have had time to eat the pie, and I was 
going to see if there was a bit left, when I saw 
Bessie coming up, and I whipped up again.’ 

‘ Then nobody went into the room between 
Henry and Bessie ? ’ 

‘ No, there wasn’t any time.’ 

The whole room was quite silent. There 
was no sound but a quick short breathing from 
the captain ; but he had rested his brow upon 
his hand, and his faee could not be seen. It was 
as if something terrible had flashed upon him, 
and he was struggling with the first shock, and 
striving to deal with it. If they had seen him 
in a tempest, with his ship driving to pieces on 
a rock, he would not have been thus shaken and 
dismayed. However, by the time he looked up 
again, he had brought his face back to its reso- 
lute firmness, and he spoke in a clear, stern, 
startling voice, that made all the children quake, 
and some catch hold of each other’s hands : 
‘ Henry ! tell me what you have done with 
your theft ! ’ 

Miserable Henry ! He did not try to deny 
it any longer, but burst out into a loud sobbing 
cry, ‘ Oh, Papa ! Papa ! I meant to have put it 
back again. I couldn’t help it.’ 

* Tell me what you have done with it,’ re- 
peated the captain. 

‘ I — I paid it to Farmer Grice ; I was 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


189 


obliged ; and I thought I could have put it back 
again ; and some of it was my own.’ 

‘ Fivepence-farthing ! ’ cried David. ‘ You 
thief, you ! ’ 

The child’s fists were clenched, and his young 
face all one scowl of passion, quite shocking to 
see. His father put him aside, and said, * Hush, 
David ; no names. Now, Henry, what do you 
say to your sister for your false accusation, 
which has thrown your own shame on her ? ’ 

‘ O, no, no, Papa ; he never did accuse me,’ 
cried Bessie, for the first time bursting into 
tears.’ ‘ He never said I did it ; that was only 
Davie’s fancy ; and it has made Susie and Sam 
so kind, I have not minded it at all. Please 
don’t mind that. Papa.’ 

‘ Come away, Henry,’ said the captain ; 
‘ now that your sister has been cleared, we had 
better have the rest out of the sight of these 
tender-hearted little girls.’ 

He stood up, and without a word stroked 
down Elizabeth’s smooth brown hair, raised her 
face up by the chin and kissed her forehead, the 
only place free from tears ; then took Henry by 
the shoulder, and marched him out of the room. 
Bessie could not stop herself from crying, and 
was afraid of letting Uncle John see her, so she 
flew out after them, and straight up-stairs to her 
own room. Miss Fosbrook and Susan both 
longed to follow her, but they had missed this 
opportunity, and the sound of voices outside 
showed so plainly that the captain and Henry 


190 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


were in the hall, that they durst not open the 
door. 

Every one was appalled, and nothing was 
said for a few seconds. The first to speak was 
Annie, in a low terror-stricken whisper, yet with 
some curiosity in it ; ‘I wonder what papa will 
do to him ? ’ 

‘ Give him nine dozen, I hope,’ answered 
David through his small white teeth, all 
clenched together with rage. 

‘ For shame, Davie,’ said Susan ; ‘ you 
should not wish anything so dreadful for your 
brother.’ 

‘ He has been so wicked ! I wish it ! I will 
wish it ! ’ said David. 

‘ Hush, David,’ said Miss Fosbrook, ‘ such 
things must not be said. I will talk to you by- 
and-by.’ 

‘ I am glad poor Bessie is cleared ! ’ added 
Susan. ‘ Though I always knew she could not 
have done it.’ 

‘ To be sure, I knew it was Hal ! ’ 

‘ Sam ! you did ! why didn’t you tell ? ’ 
cried Annie. 

‘ I wasn’t to say — sure,’ said Sam, ‘ and I 
couldn’t go and get him into a scrape. I 
thought he might tell himself if he could ever 
make up the money again.’ 

‘ Yes,’ said Susan, ‘ he would have done that. 
He always fancied he should get a sovereign 
from Colonel Carey.’ 

‘ He talked till he thought so,’ said Sam. 

‘ But what made you guess he had done so, 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 191 

Sain said Miss Fosbrook. ‘ I did suspect him 
myself, but I never felt justified in accusing* him 
of such a thing.’ 

‘ I don’t know ! ^ I saw he had been getting 
into a fix with those Grevilles, and had been 
sold somehow. They said something, and got 
out of my way directly, and I was sure they 
had done some mischief, and left him to pay the 
cost.’ 

‘ Did you ask him ? ’ said Susan. 

‘ What was the use ? One never knows 
where to have him. He will eat up his words 
as fast as he says them with his at leasts, till he 
doesn’t know what he means. Nor I didn’t 
want to know much of it.’ 

‘ Still I can’t think how you could let poor 
Bessie live under such a cloud,’ said Christabel. 

‘ You didn’t believe it,’ said Sam, ‘ nor any 
one worth a snap of my finger. Besides, if I 
had known, and had to tell, what a horrid shame 
it would have been if the naval cadetship had 
been to be had for him ! I knew Bessie would 
have thought so too, and then he would have 
been out of the way of the Grevilles, and would 
have got some money to make it up.’ 

‘ Then is there no chance of the cadetship 
now V ■ 

‘ Oh, we should have heard of it long ago if 
there had been ! So I mind the coming out the 
less, but it’s perfectly abominable to have had 
all this row, and for papa to be so cut up in this 
little short time at home.’ 

‘ I never saw him more grieved,’ said Mr. 


192 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


Merrifield, ‘ He was hardly more overcome 
when your mother was at the worst.’ 

They started, for they had forgotten Uncle 
John, or they would ne^er have spoken so 
freely ; but he now put down his newspaper, 
and looked as if he meant to talk. 

Susan ventured to say, ‘ And indeed they had 
all been so very good before. The pig made 
them so.’ 

* A learned pig, I should think,’ said her 
uncle, laughing good-naturedly. 

‘ We were obliged to take care,’ said Susan, 
* or we got so many fines.’ 

Christabel, finding that Mr. Merrifield looked 
at her, helped out Susan by explaining that 
various small delinquencies were visited with 
fines, and that the desire to save for the pig had 
rendered the children very careful. 

‘ Indeed,’ she said, ‘ I was thankful for the 
incentive, but I am afraid that it was over- 
worked, and did harm in the end,’ and she 
glanced towards David. 

‘ It is the way with secondary motives,’ was 
the answer. 

Here Captain Merrifield came back alone; 
and his brother was the only person who ven- 
tured to say, ‘ Well ? ’ 

‘ I have sent him to his room,’ said the cap- 
tain. ‘It is a very bad business, though of 
course he made excuses to himself.’ 

The captain then told them Henry’s confes- 
sion. He had been too much hurried by the fear 
of being caught, to take out his own share of the 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


193 


hoard, and had therefore emptied the whole cup- 
full into his pocket-handkerchief, tied it up, and 
run off with it, intending to separate what was 
honestly his own. What that was he did not 
know, but his boastful habits and want of accu- 
racy had made his memory so careless, that he 
fancied that a far larger proportion was his than 
really was, and his purposes were in the strange 
medley that falls to the lot of all self-deceivers, 
sometimes fancying he would only take what he 
had a right to, (whatever that might be,) some- 
times that he would borrow what he wanted, 
and replace it when the sovereign should be 
given to him, or that the Grevilles would make 
it up when they had their month’s allowance. 

When he came to the farm Mr. Grice was 
resolved to take nothing less than the whole 
sum that he had with him. Perhaps this was 
less for the value of the turkey-cock than for 
the sake of giving the boys such a lesson as to 
prevent them from ever molesting his poultry 
again. At any rate, he was inexorable till the 
frightened Henry had delivered up every far- 
thing in his possession ; and then, convinced 
that no more was forthcoming, he relented so 
far as to restore the gun, and promise to make 
no complaint to either of the fathers. 

At first Henry lived on hopes of being able 
to restore the money before the hoard should be 
examined, but Colonel Carey went away, and as 
might have been expected, left no present to his 
brother’s pupils. Still Henry had hopes of the 
Grevilles, and even when the loss was discov- 


194 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


ered, hoped to restore it secretly, and make the 
whole pass off as a joke ; but the first of August 
came, Martin and Osmond received their pocket 
money, but laughed his entreaty to scorn, telling 
him that he had shot the turkey-cock, not they. 
Since that time, his only hope had been in the 
affair blowing over — as if a sin ever did blow 
over ! 

‘ One question I must ask. Miss Fosbrook,^ 
said the captain, ‘ though after such a course of 
deceit, it hardly makes it worse. Has he told 
any direct falsehood ? ^ 

She paused, and recollected. ‘ Yes, Sir,’ she 
said, ‘ I am afraid he did ; he flatly told me that 
he had not touched the baby -house.’ 

‘ 1 expected nothing else,’ said the captain 
gravely. ‘ What has become of Bessie ? ’ 

‘ She ran up-stairs. May I go and call her,’ 
said Susan. 

‘ I will go myself,’ said her father. 

He found Elizabeth in the school-room, all 
flushed and tear-stained in the face ; and he told 
her affectionately how much pleased he was with 
her patience under this false accusation. Delight 
very nearly set her off crying again, but she 
managed to say, ‘ It was Miss Fosbrook and 
Sam and Susie that made me patient. Papa; 
they were so kind. And nobody would have 
believed it, if I wasn’t always cross, you know.’ 

‘ Not cross now, my little woman,’ he said, 
smiling. 

‘ Oh ! I said I never could be cross again 
now mamma is better ; but Miss Fosbrook says 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


195 


I shall sometimes feel so, and I do believe she is 
right, for I was almost cross to Georgie to-day. 
But she says one may feel cross, and not he 
cross ! ’ 

He did not quite know all that his little girl 
was thinking of ; but he patted her fondly, and 
said, ‘ Yes, there is a great deal to be thankful 
for, my dear ; and I shall trust to you elder 
ones to give to your mamma no trouble while I 
am afloat.’ 

^ I will try,’ said Bessie. ‘ And please. Papa, 
will you tell nurse about it ? She doesn’t half 
believe us, and she is so tiresome about Miss 
Fosbrook ! ’ 

‘ Tiresome ! what do you mean ? ’ 

‘ She always thinks what she does is wrong, 
and she puts nonsense into Johnnie’s head and 
talks about favourites. Mary told Susan it was 
jealousy.’ 

The captain spoke pretty strongly to Nurse 
Freeman that evening, but it is doubtful if she 
were the better for it. She was a very good 
woman in most things, but she could not bear 
that the children should be under any one but 
herself; and just as Henry lost the truth by 
inaccuracy, she, lost it by prejudice. 

Miss Fosbrook was glad to get away from 
the dining-room, where it was rather awful to 
sit without her work, and be talked to by Mr. 
Merrifield, even though she liked him much bet- 
ter than she had expected. 

When David came to bed she sat by him 
and talked to him about his angry unforgiving 


196 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


spirit. She could not but think he was in a 
fearful temper, and she tried hard to make him 
sorry for his brother, instead of thirsting to see 
the disappointment visited on him ; but David 
could not see what she meant. W icked people 
ought to be punished ; it was wicked to steal 
and tell stories, and he hoped Henry would be 
punished, so as he would never forget it, for 
hindering poor Hannah from getting her pig. 

He would not understand Henry’s predica- 
ment ; he was only angry, bitterly angry, and 
watching for vengeance. Miss Fosbrook could 
not reason or persuade him out of it, nor make 
him see that he could ha^ly say his prayers in 
such a mood. Indeed would rather have ' 
gone without his prayers, than have ceased to 
hope for Henry’s punishment. 

Perhaps in this there was sense of justice, 
and indignation against wrong doing, as well as 
personal resentment. Miss Fosbrook tried to . 
think so, and left him, but not without praying 
for him that a Christian temper of forgiveness 
might be sent upon him. 

All the others were subdued and awe-struck. • " 
It was not yet known what was to happen to i' 
Henry ; but there was a notion that it would be 
very terrible indeed, and that Uncle John would : 
be sure to make it worse ; and they wished 
Miss Fosbrook good-night with very sad faces. 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


197 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Nothing had as yet befallen Henry, for he 
came down to breakfast in the morning ; but 
his father did not greet him, and spoke no word 
to him all the time they were in the room to- 
gether. The children felt that this was indeed 
terrific. Such a thing had never befallen any of 
them before. They would much rather have 
been whipped ; and even David’s heart sank. 

Something, however, was soon said, that put 
all else out of his sisters’ minds. The captain 
turned to them with his merry smile, saying, 
‘ Pray what would Miss Susie and Miss Bessie 
say to coming up to London with me to see 
mamma ? ’ 

The two girls bounded upon their chairs; 
Susan’s eyes grew round, and Bessie’s long ; the 
• one said, ‘ O Papa ! ’ and the other, ‘ Oh, thank 
you ; ’ and they looked so overwhelmed with 
ecstacy, that all the three elders laughed. 

‘Then you will behave discreetly, young 
women ? ’ 

‘ I’ll try,’ said Susan ; ‘ and Bessie always 
does. Oh, thank you. Papa ! ’ 

‘ Grandmamma should be thanked ; she 
asked me to bring a child or two, to be with 
mamma when I go down to Portsmouth. We 
had thought of Susan ; but I think Betty de- 
serves some amends for what she has under- 
i gone.’ 

I ‘ O yes, Papa ! thank you ! ’ cried Susan, 


198 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


Sam, and David, from their hearts ; John and 
Annie, because the others did so. 

‘ Then you won’t kick her out if she shares 
your birth, Sue ? ’ 

‘ Oh, I am so glad, Papa ! It is so nice to 
go together.’ 

‘ Then, Miss Fosbrook, will you be kind 
enough to rig them out? I must drive into 
Southminster at ten o’clock ; and if you would 
be so good as to see them smartened up for 
London there, I should be much obliged to you.’ 

The mere drive to the county town was a 
great event in itself, even without the almost in- 
credible wonder that it was to lead to ; and the 
delights of which Ida and Miss Fosbrook had 
told them in London, went so wildly careering 
through the little girls’ brains that they hardly 
knew ‘what they said or did, as they danced 
about the house, and ran up-stairs to get ready, 
longFefore ten o’clock. 

Mr. Carey had been informed that his pupils 
would not come to him during the few days of 
their father’s stay ; and Sam begged to ride in 
on his pony by the side of the carriage ; but he 
was desired to fetch his books, and call Henry, 
as his uncle wished to give them both an exam- 
ination. Was this the beginning of captivity to 
Uncle John ? David and Johnnie were quite 
angry. They considered it highly proper that 
Hal should be shut up with Uncle John, but 
they thought it very hard that Sam should be 
so used too ; and Sam himself looked very 
round-backed, reluctant, and miserable, partly 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


199 


at the task, partly at being deprived the sight 
of his father for several hours of one of those 
few precious days. 

Miss Fosbrook wished Susan to have sat 
on the front seat of the old phaeton with her 
father ; but he would not consent to this, and 
putting the two little girls together behind, 
handed the governess to the place of honour 
beside him, where she felt rather shy, in spite 
of his bright ^asy manner. 

‘ I am afraid,’ he said, after having flourished 
his whip merrily at Johnnie, Annie, and Davie, 
who were holding open the iron gate, ‘ that you 
have had a tough job with those youngsters! 
We never meant you to have been left so long 
to their mercy.’ 

‘ I know — I know ; I only wish I could have 
done better.’ 

‘ You have done wonders. My brother hardly 
knows where he is — never saw those children so 
mannerly.’ 

Miss Fosbrook could not show how delighted 
she was. 

‘ I could hardly have ventured on taking 
those two girls to town, unless you had broken 
them in a little. I would say nothing last night 
till I had watched Susan ; for my mother is par- 
ticular, and if my wife was to be always worry- 
ing herself about their manners, they had better 
be at home.’ 

‘ Indeed, I think you may quite trust to their 
behaving well Those two and Sam are so 


200 THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 

thoroughly trustworthy, that I had no real dif- 
ficulty till this unhappy business.’ 

The captain wanted to talk this over with 
her, and hear her account of it once more. She 
gave it fully, thinking he ought to know exactly 
how his children had acted in the matter, and 
wishing to explain where she thought she had 
made mistakes. When she had finished, he said, 

‘ Thank you,’ and considered a little while ; then 
said, ‘ A thing like this brings out a great deal 
of character ; and a new eye sometimes sees 
more what is in a child, than those that bred 
him up.’ 

‘ It has been a touchstone, indeed,’ she an- 
swered. 

‘ Poor Hal ! ’ he said sadly ; then resumed, 
‘ I’ve said nothing of it yet to the boys — ^but 
Admiral Penrose has promised to let me take out 
one with me. I had thought most of Hal ; he 
seemed to me a smarter fellow, more likely to 
make his way than his brother ; but this makes 
me doubt whether there can be stuff enough in 
him. I might not be able to look after him, nor 
do I know what his mess-mates may be ; and I 
should not choose to risk it, except with a boy I 
could thoroughly trust.’ 

‘ Those young Grevilles seem to me Hal’s 
bane and temptation.’ 

‘ Ay, ay ; but if a boy is of the sort, he’ll 
find some one to be his bane, wherever he goes. 
I’ll have no more of the Grevilles, though. If 
he should not go with me, my brother John 
would take him into his house, and keep a sharp 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 201 

look out after him. Just tell me, if you have no 
objection, how the hoy strikes you. Most people 
think him the most taking of the lot.’ 

‘ So he is,’ said Christabel thoughtfully ; ‘ he 
has more ease and readiness, and he is affection- 
ate and warm-hearted ; hut then he is a great 
talker, and fond of boasting.’ 

‘ Exactly. I told him that was the very way 
he learnt falsehood.’ 

‘ I am afraid, too,’ she was obliged to add, 
‘ that his resolutions run away in talk. He has 
not much perseverance ; and he is easily led.’ 

‘ Well, I believe you are right ; but then 
what’s to be done ? I can hardly afford to lose 
this chance; but Sam was always backward; 
and I doubt his even caring to go to sea.’ 

‘ Oh ! Captain Merrifield ! ’ 

‘ What ! has he given you reason to think 
that he does ? ’ 

She told him how she had found Sam strug- 
gling with his longing for the sea and his father ; 
and how patiently the boy had resigned himself 
to see his brother put before him, and himself 
condemned for being too dull and slow. 

^ Did I say so ? I suppose he had put me 
past my patience with blundering over his les- 
sons. I never meant to make any decision ; but 
I did not think he wished it.’ 

^ He said it had been his desire from the time 
he could remember, especially when he felt the 
want of you during your last voyage.’ 

‘ Very odd ; how reserved some boys are ! I 
declare I was vexed that it had gone out of his 


202 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


head ; though I thought it might he for the best. 
You know I was not born to this place. I never 
dreamt of it till my poor brother Sam’s little 
boy went off in a fever six years ago, and we 
had to settle down here. Before that, we meant 
my eldest to follow my own profession ; but when 
he seemed to take to the soil so kindly, I thought, 
after all, he might make the happier squire for 
never having learnt the smell of salt water, nor 
the spirit of enterprise ; but if it were done 
already, the first choice is due to him. You 
are sure 1 ’ 

‘ Ask the girls.’ 

He leant back, and shouted out the question, 
‘ Sue ! do you know whether Sam wishes to go 
to sea ? ’ 

‘There’s nothing he ever wished so much,’ 
was the answer. 

‘ Then why didn’t he say so? ’ 

‘ Because he thought it would be no use,’ 
screamed Susan back. 

‘ No use ! why ? ’ 

‘ Because Hal says Admiral Penrose promised 
him. 0 Papa ! are you going to take Sam ? ’ 

‘ Oh dear ! we can’t get on without him ! ’ 
sighed Elizabeth. 

‘ Are you sure he would like it ? ’ said her 
father. ‘ I thought he never cared to heg,r of 
the sea.’ 

‘ He can’t bear to talk of it, because it makes 
him so sorry,’ said Susan. 

‘ And,* cried Bessie, ‘ he burnt his dear little 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


203 


ship, the Victory, because he couldn’t hear to 
look at it after you said ihat^ Papa.’ 

‘ After I said what 1 ’ 

‘ That he was not smart enough to learn the 
ropes.’ 

‘ Very silly of him,’ said the captain, < to take 
in despair what was only meant to spur him on. 
I suppose now I shall find he has dawdled so 
much, that he couldn’t get through an examina- 
tion.’ 

This shut up the mouths of both the girls, 
who were afraid that he might not, since they 
saw a good deal of his droning habits oyer his 
lessons, and heard more of Hal’s superior clever- 
ness. 

Miss Fosbrook ventured to say, ‘ You may 
expect a great deal of a boy who works on a 
pure principle of obedience.’ 

‘ You think a great deal of that youngster,’ 
said the captain, highly gratified. ^It is the 
first time I ever knew a stranger take to him.’ 

‘I did not tako to him as a stranger. I 
thought him uncouth and dull. I only learnt to 
love and respect him, as I felt how perfectly I 
might rely on him, and how deep and true his 
principles are. If the children have gone on 
tolerably well in your absence, it is because he 
has always stood by me, and his weight of 
character has told on them.’ 

Captain Merrifield did not answer at once; 
he bit his. lip, then blew his nose, and cleared his 
throat, before he said, ‘Miss Fosbrook, you have 
made me very happy ; it will make his mother 


204 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET, 


SO. She always rated him so high, that I half 
thought it was a weakness for her eldest son ; 
but there ! I suppose he was downhearted about 
this fancy of his, poor boy ; and that hindered 
him from making the most of himself. I won- 
der what sort of a figure he is cutting before his 
uncle ! ’ 

The town was at length reached ; and the 
shopping was quite wonderful to the sisters. 
Miss Fosbrook found a shop, where the marvel- 
lous woman undertook to send home two grey 
frocks trimmed with pink, by the next evening ; 
and found two such fashionable black silk 
jackets, that Susie felt quite ashamed of herself, 
though rather pleased ; and Bessie only wished 
she could see her own back, it must look so like 
Ida’s. Then there were white sleeves, and white 
collars, that made them feel like young women ; 
and little pink silk handkerchiefs for their necks ; 
and two straw hats, which Miss Fosbrook under- 
took to trim with puffs of white ribbon, and a 
pink rosette at each ear. Bessie thought tfiey 
would be the most beautiful things that had ever 
been in her possession, and was only dreading 
that Sam would say they were like those on Ida 
Greville’s donkey’s best harness; while Susan 
looked quite frightened at them, whispered a 
hope that mamma would not think them too 
fine, and that Miss Fosbrook would not let them 
cost too much money; and when assured that 
all fell within what papa had given to be laid 
out, she begged that Annie and little Sally might 
have the like. 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


205 


But as they were not going to London, Miss 
Foshrook could not venture on this ; and as 
Bessie had set her affections upon a certain white 
chip hat, with a pink border and a white feather, 
both sisters remained wishing for something — 
as is sure to happen on such occasions; 

However, Elizabeth recovered from the hat 
when she was out of sight of it ; and they went 
and saw the cathedral. Adhere the painted win- 
dows, and grave grand arches, filled her with a 
truer and wiser sense of what was beautiful ; and 
then they walked a long time up and down 
under its buttressed wall, waiting for papa, till 
they grew tired and hungry ; but at last he 
came in a great hurry, and sorry to have been 
hindered. With naval politeness, he gave his 
arm to Miss Foshrook, and carried them off to 
a pastry cook’s, where he bade them eat what 
they pleased, and spend the rest of the florin he 
threw them on buns for the little ones, while he 
fetched the carriage ; and so they all drove 
home again, and found the rest of the party 
ravenous, having waited dinner for three quar- 
ters of an hour. 

Wonderful to relate, Uncle John had not 
eaten any body up ! not even baby ; though 
papa advised Susan to make sure that she was 
safe, and then sent Sam to ask Purday for a 
salad. Perhaps this was by way of getting rid 
of this constant follower, while he asked his 
brother what he thought of the boys’ attain- 
ments. 

Uncle John could not speak very highly of 
12 


206 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


the learning of either ; but he said, ‘ Sam knows 
thoroughly what he does know. As to the 
other, he thinks he knows everything, and makes 
most awful shots. When I asked them who 
Dido’s husband was, Sam told me he did not 
know, and Hal, that he was Diodorus Siculus, 
at least, Scipio — no, he meant Sicyon.’ . 

‘ Then you think neither could stand an ex- 
amination for the cadetship ? ’ 

‘ I could not be sure of Sam ; but I am quite 
sure that Hal could not.’ 

Here the dinner-bell rang ; the hungry pop- 
ulace rushed to the dining-room, and ^ the meal 
was gone through as merrily as could be, while 
still the father never spoke to Henry. Uncle 
John was as pleasant and good-natured as pos- 
sible. Who would have thought of the marked 
difference he made between dining with bar- 
barians, or young gentlefolks ? 

Dinner oyj^, Captain Merrifield called Sam, 
or rather, sinch' that was not necessary, as Sam 
was never willingly a yard from his elbow, he 
ordered the others not to follow as they went 
into the garden together. 

* Sana,’ he said, ‘ Admiral Penrose is kind 
enough to offer me a berth in the Ramilies for 
one of you.- If you can pass the examination, 
should you wish to avail yourself of the offer ? ’ 
Sam grew very red in the face, looked down, 
and twiHed the button of his sleeve. He cer- 
tainly was not a gracious boy, for all he said 
was in a gruff hoarse voice, without even thanks. 
‘ Not if it is for this.’ 


THE STOKESLET SECRET. 


207 


^ ‘For this ! What do you mean, Sam ? ’ 
said Captain Merrifield, thinking either that the 
hoy was faint-hearted, or that his wish had been 
the mere fancy of the girls. 

‘ Not if it is to punish Hal,’ said Sam, with 
another effort. 

^ I That is not the question. Do you wish 

Sam hung his head, and made his eye-brows 
come down, as if they were to serve as a veil to 
those horrid tears in his eyes ; and after all, his 
voice sounded sulky, as he said, ‘ Yes.’ 

‘ Is that all ? ’ said the captain, angry and 
disappointed. ‘ Is that the way you take such 
an offer ? If you had rather stay here, and be 
bred up to be a country squire, say so at once ; 
don’t mince the matter ! ’ 

‘ O Papa ! ’ cried Sam indignantly, ‘ how can 
you think that ? Didn’t I always want to be 
like you ? ’ 

‘ Then why can’t you say so ? ’ 

‘ Becai^se I can’t bear to cut Hal out ! ’ said 
Sam, putting his arm over his eyes, as a way 
he considered secret of disposing of his tears.’ 
f ‘Put that out of your head, Sam • or if you. 
don’t fancy the sea, have it out at once.’ 

‘ O Papa ! please listen. You know, though 
Miss Fosbrook is very jolly, we couldn’t help 
getting nohow when you were away, us two parr 
ticularly.’ 

‘ You have no mischief to confess, surely, 
Sam said his father, really imagining that this 
preference to Hal was acting on him so as to 


208 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


make him mention some concealed misdemean- 
our ; ‘ if you have, you know truth is the best line.’ 

‘ But I haven’t, Papa,’ said Sam, looking up, 
quite surprised. ‘ You know I am a year older, 
and couldn’t help caring more ; and Miss Pos- 
brook is so nice, one couldn’t bother her ; but 
you see the Grevilles would put it into Hal’s 
head that it was stupid and like a girl to mind 
her. It is all their fault ; and they were sneaks 
about the turkey-cock, and wouldn’t pay — and 
I know he would have ended by putting the 
money back when he could, only Davie made 
such a row before he could ; and he did so 
reckon on the navy — he would pay it back the 
first thing.’ The last sentences came between 
gasps, very like sobs. 

‘ Have done with Hal,’ said Captain Merri- 
field, still with displeasure. ‘ I wouldn’t take 
him now on any account. If the Grevilles lead 
him wrong, what wmuld he do among the mids ? 
If he acts dishonourably here, we should have 
him disgracing himself and his profession. Since 
he can’t take it, and you won’t, I shall try to 
make some exchange of the chance till John or 
David will be old enough.’ * 

‘ But, Papa, I — ’ began Sam. 

‘ I don’t want to force you to it,’ contin- 
ued Captain Merrifield, in his vexed voice. ‘ I 
never mean to force my sons to any profession 
if I can help it ; and you have a right to be con- 
sidered. It has always been a disadvantage to 
me, and to this place, that I was bred to^lbe sea 
instead of to farming ; and though you camt live 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


209 


on the property without some profession, it may 
be quite as well that you should turn your mind 
to something else — only if it be the army, I 
can’t help you on in it.’ 

‘ I had rather go to sea, if you please,’ said 
Sam. 

‘ Don’t say so to please me,’ said his father. 

‘ I tell you the examinations are a pretty deal 
harder than they were in my time. It is not a 
trade for a youngster to be idle in ; and I won’t 
have you, just when you’ve knocked about a 
few years, and are getting fit to be of use on 
board and nowhere else, calling yourself heartily 
sick of it, and turning round to say it was my 
doing.’ 

‘ I’ll never do that. Papa,’ said poor Sam, 
unable to understand why his father should 
speak as though scolding him. 

^ No ? And mind, you must take the rough 
with the smooth, if you sail with me, and not 
be always running after me, papaing me. I can’t 
see after you, and should only get you ill will if 
1 tried.’ 

* I had rather go,’ said Sam. 

‘ I’m sure I don’t know what to make of 
you,’ said his father, looking at him in a puzzle. 
‘ However, if you do mean to go, you may tell 
Freeman to get your things ready to come up 
with me on Thursday ; only if you don’t really 
like the notion, find out your own mind, and let 
me know in time, that’s all.’ 

Thp captain turned away, and gave a long 
whisdre — an accustomed signal — that brought 


210 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


children and dogs all rushing and tumbling 
about him together, to walk with him about the 
farm, and his brother among them ; but Sam 
hung back. He had not the heart to go with 
that merry throng ; for he did not know 
whether his father were not displeased with 
him, and he therefore thought he must be to 
blame. 

People who, like Sam, rather cultivate the 
habit of gruffness and reserve, and prefer to be 
short and rude, become so utterly unable to ex- 
press what they mean, that on great occasions 
they are misunderstood, and give pain by sup- 
posed ingratitude and dislike, even when they 
feel most warmly. Captain Merrifield could 
only judge from looks and words ; and even 
when Sam had been satisfied about Heriry, he 
had shown so little alacrity or satisfaction, as 
really to leave a doubt whether he were not un- 
willingly yielding to his father’s wishes ; which 
would have been a mistaken act, as the captain 
thought no one ought to be a sailor, unless with 
a very strong desire that way. Thus Sam really 
perplexed and distressed his father, when he least 
intended it ; and unable to understand what was 
the matter, yet feeling heavy and sad, he turned 
aside from the rest, and by way of the quietest 
place he could find, climbed up a very tall pear- 
tree, to the very highest branch that he could 
reach. He put himself astride on one bough, 
his feet upon another below, and his back lean- 
ing against the main stem. No one coyld see’ 
him up so high among the thick leaves 5 but he 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


211 


could see all around the village, and over the 
house ; he could look down into the farm court 
at the pigs burying themselves in the straw ; 
and out beyond at the geese and ducks in the 
meadow, and the broods of chicken, pecking and 
scratching about, or the older poultry rolling in 
the dust holes they had scraped for themselves. 
He could see Purday among his cabbages in the 
garden ; and further off could watch the v’alk- 
ing party through the fields, his father with little 
George in his arms, and Uncle John as often as 
possible by his side ; while the others frisked 
about like a flock of sheep in the pasture land, 
or when they came to the narrow paths in the 
corn-fields, all getting into single file, and being 
lost sight of all but their heads. 

Sam recollected how, the day when he had 
heard that he was not likely to be a sailor, he 
had felt as if he hated Stokesley, and as if it 
would be a prison to him, and how everything 
reminding him of the sea had been a misery to 
him. He would not then have believed any 
one, who had told him that he would really 
hear of his appointment and be so little glad. 
Yet for two whole years the loss of the hope 
had weighed on him, and made him dull when- 
ever he thought of grown-up life, heard of the 
sea, or was asked what he was to be : and 
almost always at his prayers, he had that mean- 
ing in his mind, when he said, ‘Thy Will be 
done ; ’ he had really submitted patiently, and 
tried to put away the longing from his mind, 
and would, there can be no doubt, have been 


212 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


happy and dutiful at liome ; but at length the 
wish of his heart was suddenly granted. 

And then, wish though it still were, there 
came all this grief and discomfort. The glad- 
ness was in him somewhere, but he could not 
get at it, either for his own comfort, or that of 
his father. He missed his mother exceedingly. 

She would know what he meant, and tell papa 
that he did care to go. Yet did he care so 
very much ? Only think of beginning to be a 
stranger at this dear old home ! and seeing no 
mother, no Susie, nor any of them, for years 
together — probably not his father after the first 
voyage ! However, the sailor was too strong 
in Sam for that grief not to pass off ; and his 
chief trouble was the sense of supplanting 
Henry. He knew the disappointment would be 
ihost bitter; and he could not get rid of the 
sense of having taken an unfair advantage of 
the disgrace of Henry’s adventure. As to his 
father’s manner, he got over that more easily, 
for his conscience was free ; he knew that the 
tone of displeasure would be gone at the next 
meeting, and he was too sure of his own love • ' 
of the sea, to fear that he should not show it i 
enough. After all, he was to be a naval cadet I 
He could not be sorry. Nay, he felt he had his 
wish ; the very wish he had thought it wrong 
to put into a prayer. He thought he ought to 
be thankful that it was granted, in the same 
way as he had been when his mother began to 
recover. So he put his hands together, and 
looked up into the summer blue sky through 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


213 


the leaves, and his lips moved, as he whispered 
his thanks, and asked to be helped in being a 
good brave sailor, and that something as good 
might happen to poor Henry. 

After this, somehow the weight was gone, he 
knew not where. All he recollected was, that 
he should see mamma in two days, and that he 
was to sail with papa if he could get through 
his examination. There was a sort of necessity 
of doing something comical ; and just then spy- 
ing Miss Fosbrook with a book, walking slowly 
below, he could not resist the temptation of 
sending down on her a shower of little hard 
pears and twigs. 

Bob came one down on her book, and another 
on her bonnet. She looked up, and saw a leg 
stretching out for a branch, apparently in such 
a dangerous manner, that she did not know 
whether she should not have Sam himself on 
her head next, and started back, watching as he 
swung himself from branch to branch, and then 
slid down, embracing the trunk. 

‘ Did I hit you ? ’ said he. ‘ I couldn’t help 
trying it ; it was such fun.’ 

It was a great liberty ; but she was so good- 
humoured as to laugh, and said he had taken 
good aim.’ 

‘ Please, Miss Fosbrook,’ next said he, 
‘ would you hear how many propositions I can 
say ? ’ And as she opened her eyes at this holi- 
day amusement, -he added, ‘ Papa has got the 
appointment after all, and means me to have 
it.’ 


214 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


‘ I am SO glad, Sam ! I give you joy ! ’ she 
said, and took his hand to shake it heartily. 

‘ I wish Hal could go too,’ said Sam. 

‘ Dear Sam,’ she said kindly, and guessing 
his feelings, as having gone along with them, 
‘ I don’t wonder you are sorry for him ; but 
indeed I think it is better for him to be shel- 
tered from beginning real life just now.’ 

‘ Papa said he would not have taken him,’ 
said Sam ; ‘ but it seems so hard to have all 
his life changed for a thing that sounds worse 
than he meant it to be.’ 

‘ Sam,’ said Miss Fosbrook, * I once read a 
sermon, that said that our conduct in little 
things does decide the tenor of our lives. You 
know one moment of hastiness cost Moses the 
Promised Land ; and only a little while ago, we 
heard how Joash had but few victories allow' ed 
to him, because he did not think it worth while 
to strike the ground as often as Elisha told him. 
It is the little things that show whether w'e are 
to be trusted with great.’ 

‘ It is such a tremendous punishment,’ said 
Sam, ‘ when he would have put it back again.’ 

‘ My brother knew a banker’s clerk who was 
transported for borrowing what he meant to put 
back again. No, Sam ; people must bear the 
result of their doings ; and your father judges 
for Hal as much in kindness as in anger.’ 

‘ I know he knows best.’ 

‘You may see it as well as trust. With all 
his grand talk, do you really think that Hal 
W'ould not be upset at the first hardship, or that 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


215 


he could face bullying or danger? Eemember 
the bull that was at least a vicious cow, and 
turned out to be a calf.’ 

Sam could not help laughing, as he said, 
‘ Yes, that would never do at sea ; and he would 
be done for if he were cowardly there. But I 
wish I could get out of sight of him till I am 
gone. And please hear my Euclid ; I’ll get the 
book, if you’ll stay out here.’ 

‘ Therefore, if the two sides of two triangles 
be equal to one another, and the adjacent angles 
be equal, each to each ’ — resounded through the 
laurels, as the walking party returned. 

‘ Hallo ! al fresco Euclid ! ’ exclaimed Uncle 
John, as Sam with a blush ran after his blotted 
diagrams, as a sudden gust of wind blew them 
dancing over the garden. Captain Merrifield 
caught one and restored it to Sam, with a pat 
on the back that made his teeth rattle in his 
head, but which made him as happy as a young 
sea king, showing that they perfectly understood 
each other. 

But to be ever so good a boy, does not carry 
one through the examinations that stand at the 
door of every road of life, for those who are not 
wealthy. Sam knew he was the dull boy of 
Mr. Carey’s four pupils, and though from sheer 
diligence he was less often turned back than the 
rest, yet they could all excel him whenever they 
chose: his lessons all went against the grain, 
and were a sore trouble to him ; and his uncle 
had shown much wrath to-day at his ignorance 
and backwardness. He was therefore in a great 


216 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


fright, and gave himself and Miss Foshrook no 
peace, running after her every moment with his 
Euclid, his Colenso, or his slate. 

* That hoy will stupefy himself and his ad- 
mirable cramming machine ! ’ exclaimed Uncle 
John, when coming out into the court after tea 
to talk to Purday, the two brothers heard, ‘ the 
complement AE, is equal to the complement 
D E,’ proceeding out of the school-room window. 

‘ A truce with your complements to-night,’ 
shouted the captain ; ‘ come down, Sam ; I must 
have a game at hide and seek ! ’ 

Though hide and seek on the lawn with papa 
was the supremest bliss that life had yet offered 
to the young Merrifields, and though Susan, 
Bessie, Annie, and Johnnie, had all severally 
burst into the room to proclaim it, and summon 
Sam, he had refused them all; but this call 
settled it ; he broke off in the middle of his 
rectangle, and dashed down-stairs, to the great 
relief of kind Miss Fosbrook, who, with all her 
good will, found her head beginning to grow 
weary of angles and right angles on a hot even- 
ing in the height of summer. 

The summer-house was to be liome^ and there 
the party were assembled — ^nine in number, for 
not only papa, but Uncle John, was going to 
play ; and Henry, though forlorn and unnoticed, 
had wandered about with the rest all day, trying 
to do as usual, to forget the heavy load that 
pressed on him, and to believe that he was not 
going to be punished for mere unluckiness in 
borrowing, and for not answering impertinent 


THE STOKESLET SECRET. 217 

questions. The world was very unlike itself to 
him ; and he saw the enjoyment without being 
able to enter into it, just as a sick person sees 
the sunshine without feeling the warmth; hut 
instead of penitence, he merely tried to shake off 
his compunction. 

So there he stood in the ring, as Susan was 
finding out who was to be the first to hide, by 
pointing to each, at each word of the formula, 

“ butter, cheese, bread, 

Sticks, stocks, stones, dead.” 

Dead came to Uncle John, as perhaps Susan 
had contrived ; and shrugging up his shoulders, 
he went off to hide, and his whoop was pres- 
ently heard. He was not very good game ; 
maybe he did not wish to be very long sought, 
for he was no farther than in the tall French 
beans, generally considered as a stupid place to 
hide in. The children had been in hopes that 
he would catch papa, which was always a very 
difficult matter, for the sailor was lighter of foot, 
as well as, of course, longer in limb, than any 
of the children ; but they saw that Uncle John 
had not the slightest chance with him, and it 
was Bessie who was caught 'in her homeward 
race. 

Bessie was rather a good hider, and ,was 
searched for far and wide before Sam’s ‘ I spy ! 

I spy ! ’ gave the signal that a bit of the spotty 
cotton had been seen peeping out from under 
Purday’s big potato-basket in the tool-house, and 
the whole party flew towards home. Bessie 
13 


218 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


would not aim at papa, for if so, she would cer- 
tainly catch no one ; hut she hunted down 
David, who was too sturdy to be a quick run- 
ner, and who was very well pleased to be 
caught. 

‘ I’ll have papa,” he said as she captured 
him. ‘ I know of such a cunning place.’ 

David’s place proved to be in among his like- 
nesses, the cabbages, immediately in front of the 
summer-house. There he lay flat on the very 
wet mould, among the stout cabbages, all of 
which had a bead of wet in every wrinkle of 
their great leaves, so that when Susan had at 
length spied him, and he came plunging out, his 
brown holland — to say nothing of his knees — 
was in a state that would have caused most 
mammas to send him to be instantly undressed ; 
but nobody even saw it, and he charged instantly 
towards the door of the summer-house, not pur- 
suing any one in particular, but cutting all off 
from their retreat. He slipped aside, however, 
and let all the lesser game pass by uncaught ; 
his soul soared higher than even Uncle John, 
who looked on exceedingly amused at the small 
man’s stratagem, and at the long dodging that 
took place between him and his father, the quick 
lithe captain skipping hither and thither, and 
trying to pop in one side while his enemy was 
on the other ; and the square, determined, little, 
puffing, panting boy, guarding his door, hands 
on knees, ever ready for a dart wherever the at- 
tempt was made. The whole party in the home 
nearly went into fits at the fun, and at the droll 


THS STOKJESLEY SECRET. 


2.19 


remarks Uncle John made at this hare and tor- 
toise spectacle ; till at last, either the captain 
gave in, or Davie made a cleverer attack than 
ever, for with a great shout, he flew upon papa, 
and held him fast by the leg. Every one shrieked 
with delight ; papa hid in such clever places, and 
when found, he roared so splendidly, that it 
struck the little ones with terror, and did the 
hearts of the elders good, to hear him ; indeed, 
the greatest ambition Johnnie entertained, was 
to roar like papa. Then he could make his 
voice sound as if out of any place he chose, so 
I that no one could guess by his ‘whoop’ where to 

, look for him ; and this time it seemed to be quite 

I out at the other end of the kitchen garden, where 
! they were all looking, when another ‘whoop’ 
came apparently down from Sam’s pear-tree on 
; the lawn, and while they were peeping up into 
i it, ‘whoop’ re-echoed from the stables! At 
I last, as Annie was gazing up and round, as if 
a she even thought it as well to look right into the 
j sky for papa, she suddenly beheld the two mer- 
t riest eyes in the world, on the roof of the sum- 
i mer-house itself. He had been lying there on 
I the thatch, watching at his ease all the wander- 
ings of the seekers, and uttering those wonderful 
whoops to bewilder them. 

‘ I spy ! I spy ! ’ shrieked Annie, flying in, 
even while her father sprang to the ground, 
and with Davie’s manoeuvre on a larger scale, 
seemed to be taking his choice of all the fugi- 
tives rushing up from all parts. 

One elder boy, and one younger, he was 


220 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


hunting down the gooseberry-path, when just as 
he was about to pounce on the former, he saw 
that it was not Sam, stood still, and folded his 
arms. A shriek made him look round ; little 
David stood sobbing and crying piteously. 

‘ Davie ! what, Davie ! What is it, my man ? 
Where are you hurt ? * 

‘ No, no ! I’m not hurt ! Catch Hal, Papa.’ 

‘ No, David. I do not play with boys that 
act like Henry.’ 

‘ Speak to him. Papa ; oh, speak ! ’ 

‘ I shall before I go,’ said the captain 
gravely. 

‘Now, now! Papa! Oh, do! I did want 
him to be punished ; but not like this.’ 

‘ No, David. If he can expect to play with 
me, and be treated like the others, he is not in 
the state to receive forgiveness. There, have 
done crying ; let us go on with the game.’ 

But David could not go on playing ; he was 
too unhappy. Not to be forgiven, even if pun- 
ished, seemed to him too dreadful to happen to 
any one ; and he thought that he had brought ii 
all on Henry by his letter of accusation. Tardily 
and dolefully he crept into the house ; and Miss 
Fosbrook met him, looking so woe-begone, that 
she too thought that he had hurt himself. She 
took him, dirt and all, on her lap ; and there he 
sobbed out that papa wouldn’t speak to Hal, and 
it was very dreadful ; and he wished there were 
no such things as pigs, or money, or secrets; 
they only made people miserable ! 

‘ Dear Davie, they only make people miser- 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


221 


able when they care too much about them. Papa 
will forgive Hal before be goes away, I am sure ; 
only he is making him sorry first, that he may 
never do such a thing again.’ 

‘ I don’t like it ; ’ and David cried sadly, 
perhaps because partly he was tired with having 
been on his legs more than usual that day ; but 
his good and loving little self was come home 
again. He at least had forgiven his brother the 
wrong done to himself! and there was no hang- 
ing back that night from the fulness of prayer ; 
no, he rather felt that he had been unkind ; and 
the last thing heard of him that night was, that 
as Sam and Hal were coming up-stairs to bed, a 
little white figure stood on the top of the stairs, 
and a small voice said, ‘ Hal, please kiss me ! I 
am so sorry I told papa about — 

‘ There, hold your tongue,’ said Hal, cutting 
him short with the desired kiss ; ‘ if you hadn’t 
told, some one else would.’ 

But long after Sam was asleep, Hal was wet- 
ting his pillow through with tears. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Still the silence lasted. Henry had tried 
at first to persuade himself that it was only by 
chance that he never heard his own name from 
lips that used to call it more often than any 


222 


THE STOKESLET SECEET. 


other. Indeed, he was so much used to favour, 
that it needed all the awe-struck pity of the rest 
to prove to him its withdrawal ; and he was so 
much in the habit of thrusting himself before 
Samuel, that even the sight and sound of the 
First Book of Euclid, all day long, failed to con- 
vince him that his brother could be preferred ; 
above all, as Nurse Freeman had been collecting 
his clean shirts as well as Sam’s, and all the 
portmanteaus and trunks in the house had been 
hunted out of the roof. Once, either the spirit 
of imitation, or his usual desire of showing him- 
self off, made him break in when Sam was knit- 
ting his brows frightfully over a sum in propor- 
tion. Hal could do it in no time ! 

So he did ; but he put the third term first, 
and multiplied the hours into the minutes, instead 
of reducing them to the same denomination ; so 
that he made out that twenty-five men would 
take longer to cut a field of grass than three, 
and then could not see that he was wrong ; but 
Miss Fosbrook and Sam both looked so much 
grieved for him, that a start of fright went 
through him. 

Some minds really do not imderstand a fault 
till they see it severely visited ; and ^ at least" 
and ‘ couldrCt help ’ had so blinded Henry’s eyes 
that he had thought himself more unlucky than 
to blame, till his father’s manner forced it on 
him that he had done something dreadful. 
Vaguely afraid, he hung about, looking so wretch- 
ed that he was a piteous sight ; and it cut his 
father to the heart to spend such a last day to- 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


223 


gether. Mayhap the captain could hardly have 
held out all that second day, if he had not passed 
his word to his brother. 

The travellers were to set off at six in the 
morning, to meet the earliest train ; and it was 
not till nine o’clock at night, when the four elder 
ones said good-night, that the captain, following 
them out of the room, laid his hand on Henry as 
the others went up-stairs, and said, ‘ Henry, have 
you nothing to say to me ? ’ 

Henry leant against the baluster and sobbed, 
not knowing what else to do. 

‘You can’t be more grieved than I am to 
have such a last day together,’ said his father, 
laying his hand on the yellow head; ‘hut I 
can’t help it, you see. If you will do such 
things, it is my duty to make you repent of 
them.’ 

Hal threw himself almost double over the 
rail, and something was heard about ‘ sorry,’ and 
‘ never.’ 

‘ Poor little lad ! ’ said his father aloud to 
himself ; ‘ he is cut up enough now, hut how am 
I to know if his sorrow is good for anything V 
, ‘ 0 Papa ! I’ll never do such a thing again I’ 

‘ I wish I knew that, Hal,’ said the captain, 
sitting down on the stairs, and taking him be- 
tween his knees. ‘There, let us talk it over 
together. I don’t suppose you expected to steal 
and deceive when you got up in the morning.’ 

‘ Oh no, no ! ’ 

‘ Gro hack to the he^ning. See how you 
came to this.’ ^ 


224 


THE STOKESLET SECRET. 


As he waited for an answer, Hal mumbled 
out after some time, ‘ You said we need not go 
to church on a week-day/ 

‘Well, what of that?’ 

‘I didn’t go in case the telegraph should come.’ 

‘ There are different ways of thinking,’ said 
his father. ‘ Church was the only place where 
I could have gone that St. Barnabas’s Day.’ 

‘ I would have gone,’ said the self-contra- 
dictory Henry, ‘only the Grevilles are always 
at one for being like a girl.’ 

‘ Ha ! now we see daylight ! ’ said the captain. 
‘ “ The Grevilles are at one” — that’s more like 
getting to the bottom of it.’ 

‘Yes, Papa,’ said Hal, glad to make himself 
out a victim to circumstance ; ‘ you can’t think 
what a pair of fellows those are for not letting 
one alone; Purday says they haven’t as much 
cons ience between them as a pigeon’s egg has 
meat ; and going down to Mr. Carey’s with 
them every day, they let one have no peace.’ 

‘ You will find people everywhere who will 
let you have no peace, unless you do not care 
for them; though you will not be left to the 
Grevilles any longer.’ 

‘ Yes, Papa ; when I am away from them, 
you will see — 

‘ No, Hal, I shall not see, I shall hear.’ 

‘ Shall not I sail with you, then. Papa ? ’ 

‘ You will not sail at all : I thought you 
knew that.’ 

‘ I thought the admiral must have given you 
two appointments,’ said Hal timidly. 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


225 


‘ He gave me one, for one of my sons. The 
first choice is Sam’s right, even if he had not 
deserved it by his brave patient obedience.’ 

Hal hung his head ; then said, ‘ But, Papa, 
if Sam broke down in his examination, please 
mightn’t I — 

‘ No, Henry. Not only does your uncle say 
that though Sam’s success is very doubtful, your 
inaccuracy would make your failure certain ; but 
if your knowledge were ever so well up to the 
mark, I could not put you into the navy. Left 
to yourself here, you have been insubordinate, 
vain, weak, shufHing ; can I let you go into 
greater temptation, where disgrace would be 
public and without remedy ? ’ 

‘ Oh, but Papa ! Papa ! Away from the 
Grevilles, and not under only a governess — 

‘ You shall be away from the Grevilles, and 
not under a governess. Your uncle is kind 
enough to take you with him to his house, and 
will endeavour to make you fit to try to get 
upon the foundation by the time there is a 
vacancy.’ 

‘ 0 Papa ! don’t ! ’ sobbed Henry. 

‘ I can’t help it, Hal. You have shown 
yourself unfit either for the sea or for home. 
What can I do with you ? ’ 

‘ Try me — only try me. Papa. I would — 

‘ I cannot go by what you say you would be, 
but what you are. Deeds, not words.’ 

‘ But if you won’t let me go into the navy, 
only let me be in real school.’ 

‘ No, Henry ; I have not the means of send- 


226 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


ing you there, excepting on the foundation ; and 
if you get admittance there at all, it will only 
he by great diligence, and your uncle’s kindness 
in preparing you.’ 

Henry cried bitterly. It was a dreadful 
prospect to do his lessons alone with Uncle John 
in the boys’ play hours, and be kept in order by 
Aunt Alice when his uncle was in school. Per- 
haps his father would not have liked it himself, 
for his voice was very pitying, though cheering, 
as he said, ‘ One half year, Hal, very likely no 
more if you take pains, and you’ll get into 
school, and be very happy, so long as you don’t 
make a Greville of every idle chap you meet,’ 

Henry cried as though beyond consolation. 

‘ I hate leaving you this way,’ continued his 
father ; * but by the time I come home you will 
see it was the best thing for you ; and look up 
to Uncle John as your best friend. Why, Hal, 
boy, you’ll be a tall fellow of fourteen ! Let 
me find you godly and manly : you can’t be one 
without the other. There now, good-night, God 
bleirs you.’ 

More might have been said to Henry on his 
fault and what had led to it ; but what his father 
did say was likely to sink deeper as he grew 
older, and had more sense and feeling. 

Prom him Captain Merrifield went to the 
school-room, where Miss Posbrook was packing 
up for the little girls, and putting last stitches 
to their equipments, with hearty good will and 
kindness, as if she had been their elder sister. 

He thanked her most warmly ; and without 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


227 


sending away the girls, who were both busy 
tacking in little white tuckers to the evening 
frocks, he began to settle about the terms on 
which she was to remain at Stokesley. He said 
that he could not possibly have left his wife 
without a person on whose friendly help and 
good management of the children he could de- 
pend. Important as it was to him to be em- 
ployed, he must have refused the appointment 
if Miss Fosbrook had been discontented, or had 
not had the children so well in hand. He ex- 
plained that he had reason to think that Mrs. 
Merrifield’s present illness had been the effect 
of all she had gone through while he was 
in the Black Sea, during the Crimean War. 
She had been a very strong person, and had 
never thought of sparing herself ; but she and 
all her little children had had to get into 
Stokesley in his absence; she had to manage 
the estate and farm, teach the elder children, 
and take care of the babies, with no help but 
Nurse Freeman’s : and though he had been 
wounded when with the Naval Brigade, and had 
been at death’s door with cholera, the effects 
had done him no lasting harm at all ; while' the 
overstrain of the anxiety and exertion that she 
had undergone all alone, had so told upon her, 
that she had never been well since, and he much 
feared, would never be in perfect health again. 
He must depend upon Miss Fosbrook for watch- 
ing over her and saving her, as his little Susie 
could not yet do ; and for letting him know 
from time to time how she was going on, and 


22S 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


whether he ought to give up everything and 
come home. 

He had tears in his eyes as he thanked 
Christahel for her earnest promise to watch and 
tend Mrs. Merrifield with a daughter’s care; 
and her heart swelled with strong deep feeling 
of sorrow and sympathy with these two brave- 
hearted loving people, doing their duty at all 
costs so steadily ; and she was full of gladness 
and thankfulness, that they could treat her as 
a true and trusty friend. He walked away, 
feeling far too much to bear any eye upon him ; 
and Susan was found to be crying quietly, mak- 
ing her thread wxt through, and her needle 
squeak at every stitch, at the sad news that 
mamma never was to be quite well, even though 
assured that she was likely to be much better 
than she had been for months past. 

Bessie shed no tears, but Miss Fosbrook, 
who had been hindered all day by Sam’s Euclid 
and Colenso, and had sat up till half-past eleven 
o’clock to make the two Sunday frocks nice 
enough for the journey, on going into the bed- 
room to lay them out for the morning, saw a 
little face raised from the pillow of one of the 
small white beds, and found her broad awake. 
Bessie never could go to sleep properly when 
anything out of the common way was coming 
to pass, so that was the less wonder ; but she 
had a great deal in her head, and she was glad 
to get Christabel to kneel down by her, to lis- 
ten to her whispers. 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


229 


‘ Dear Christabel, I am so sorry ! I never 
eared about it before ! ’ 

* About what, my dear ? ’ 


‘ What 


a said about when he was in the 



Black Sea. I never knew mamma cared so 
much.’ 

* I dare say not, my dear ; you were much 
younger then.’ 

‘ And I didn’t know all about it,’ said Bessie, 
‘ or else I’ve forgotten. I have been trying to 
remember whether we ever thought about 
mamma ; and O Christabel ! do you know — I 
believe we only thought she was cross! O 
dear 1 it was so naughty and bad of us ! ’ 

^ I can guess how it happened, my dear. 
You were not old enough to be made her 
friends, and you could not understand quiet 
sorrow.’ 

‘ To think we should have said she was 
cross ! ’ 

‘ That was wrong, because it was disrespect- 
ful. You see, my dear, when grown people are 
in trouble, you young ones can’t enter into their 
feelings, nor always even find out that anything 
is amiss ; and you get vexed at there being a 
cloud over the house, and call it crossness.’ 

‘ Grown-up people are sometimes cross, 
aren’t they ? ’ said Bessie. ^ Nurse is ; and I 
heard papa say Aunt Alice was.’ 

‘We have tempers, certainly,’ said Miss 
Fosbrook ; ‘ and unless we have conquered 
them as children, there will be signs of them 
afterwards ; but very few people, and certainly 


23P THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 

no children, can tell when grave looks or words 
sharper than usual, come from illness, or anx- 
iety, or sorrow ; and it is the only way to save 
great grief and self reproach to give one’s own 
faults the blame, and try to be as unobtrusive 
and obliging as possible.’ 

‘ And I am older now, and can understand,’ 
said Bessie ; ‘ but then, it is Susie that is right 
hand, and does everything.’ 

‘ There’s plenty in your own line, Bessie — 
plenty of little kindly services that are very 
cheering ; and above all — ’ 

‘What?’ 

‘ Attending to your mamma’s troubles will 
drive away your own grievances. Only I will 
not talk to you any more now, for I want you 
to go to sleep ; if you lie awake, you will be 
tired to-morrow, and that will incline you to be 
fretful.’ 

‘ Fretful to-morrow I ’ 

Bessie could not believe it possible; and 
indeed Miss Fosbrook did not think the chance 
great, as long as there was amusement and ex- 
citement. The danger would be in the waitings , 
and disappointments that will often occur even 
in the height of enjoyable schenues. 

It would take too long to tell of all the good- 
byes. The children old enough to enter into^ 
the parting were setting off too ; and Miss Fos- 
brook felt more for the little ones than they did 
for themselves, as they watched their father and 
uncle and two sisters into the gig, and the boys 
into the cart, with Purday to drive them and 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


231 


the boxes, Sam sitting on his father’s old mid- 
shipman’s chest, trying as well as the jolting 
would let him, to con over that troublesome 
Thirty-fifth Proposition, which nine times repe- 
tition to Miss Posbrook had failed to put into 
his head. 

Johnnie and Annie wished themselves going 
to sea, or to London, or anywhere, rather than 
having the full force of Miss Fosbrook on their 
lessons ! She did not make them do more, but 
she took the opportunity of making everything 
be done thoroughly, and as they thought, both- 
ered them frightfully about pronouncing their 
words in reading, and holding their pens when 
they wrote. After a little wFile, however, they 
found that really their hands were much less 
tired, and their lines much smoother, and more 
slanting, than when they crooked their fingers 
close down over the ink. Absolutely they 
began to know the pleasure of doing something 
well, and they felt so comfortable, that they 
were wonderfully good ; and the pig fund might 
have had a chance, but David did not seem to 
think of reviving it. Perhaps his great vehe- 
mence had tired itself out ; and maybe he was 
ashamed of the great disturbance he had made, 
and all that had come upon Henry, and did not 
wish to think of it again, for St. Katherine’s fair- 
day passed over without a word of the pig. 

The young ladies were not great letter- 
writers ; and all that was known of them was 
that mamma was better, they had been to the 
Zoological Gardens, and the hyena was so funny, 


232 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


and Mrs. Penrose was so nice. Then that papa 
and Sam were gone to Portsmouth, and that 
they had telegraphed that Sam had succeeded. 

If it had been her own brother, Miss Fos- 
brook could not have been much happier ; and 
in honour of it she and the three children all 
went to drink tea in the wilderness, walking in 
procession, each with a flag in hand, painted by 
her for the occasion. 

Three days after, when the post came in, 
there was a letter directed to Master David 
Douglas Merrifiefd, Stokesley House, Bon- 
champ. It was a great wonder ; for David was 
not baby enough, nor near enough to the young- 
est, to get letters as a pet, nor was he old 
enough to be widtten to like an elder one. He 
spelt the address all over before he made up his 
mind to open it, and then exclaimed, ‘ But it is 
not a letter ! It’s green ! ’ 

‘It is a post-office order, Davie,’ said Miss 
Fosbrook. ‘ Let me look. Yes, for ten shil- 
lings. Write your name there ; and if we take 
it to the post-office at Bonchamp, they will give 
you ten shillings.’ 

‘Ten shillings I O, Davie!’ cried Johnnie, 
‘ I wish it was to me ! ’ 

‘ It just makes up for what Hal took ; and 
more too,’ said Annie. ‘ Where can it come 
from, Davie ? ’ 

‘ From the Queen,’ said Davie composedly ; 
‘ the Queen always does justice.’ 

Miss Fosbrook was quite sorry to confess, 
for truth’s sake, that she did not think the 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


233 


Queen could have heard of the loss of the pig 
fund, and that it was more likely to be from 
some one who wished to make up for the dis- 
aster — who could it be ? She looked at the 
round stamp upon the green lettered paper, and 
read, ‘ Portsmouth.’ Could it be from papa ? 
Then she looked at the cover ; but it was not 
a bit like the captain’s writing ; it was pretty, 
lady-like, clear-looking hand-writing, and puz- 
fled her a great deal more. If the children had 
once had a secret of their own, there was a very 
considerable one to puzzle them now ; and they 
could hardly believe that Miss Fosbrook knew 
nothing about it, any more than themselves. 

So restless and puzzled were they, that she 
thought they would never be able to settle 
quietly to their lessons, and that it would save 
idleness, if she walked with them at once to 
Bonchamp to get the money. It was two 
miles ; but all three were stout walkers, and 
they were delighted to go ; indeed they would 
have fancied that some one else might run away 
with the ten shillings, if they had not made haste 
to -secure it. So ‘ David Douglas Merrifield ’ 
was written, with much difficulty to make it 
small enough, in the very best and roundest 
hand. The boys were put into clean blouses, 
Annie’s striped cotton came to light ; and off 
set the party through the lane, each with six- 
pence in the hand, for it was poor fun to go to 
Bonchamp unless one had something to spend 
there. David wanted a knife, Johmiie wanted a 


234 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


whip, Annie nothing in particular, only to go 
into a shop, and buy — she didn’t know what. 

But the wonderful affair at the post-office 
must have the first turn ; and very grand did 
David feel as the clerk peeped out from his 
little hole, and looked amused and gracious as 
the little boy stood on tip-toe to give in his 
green paper. 

‘ Will you have it in gold or silver, Sir ? ’ 
he asked. 

‘ In gold, please,’ said David. 

It was something to have a bit of gold in 
one’s possession for the first time in one’s life ; 
and David felt as if he had grown an inch taller, 
and were as good as six years old, as he walked 
away with the half sovereign squeezed into his 
hot little palm. 

The toy-shop was at the end of the street, 
and in they went ; Johnnie to try all the whistles 
in the handles of the whips, and be much dis- 
gusted that all that had a real sound lash cost a 
shilling ; David to open and shut the sixpenny 
knives with the gravity of a judge, examining 
their blades ; and Annie to gape about, and ask 
the price of everything, after the tiresome fash- 
ion of people, old or young, wffien they come 
out bent on spending, but without any aim or 
object. However, Annie was kind, if she were 
silly, and she was very fond of Johnnie ; so it 
ended, after a little whispering, in her sixpence 
being added to his, to buy a real good whip, 
such as would crack, and not come to pieces. 

Just then, what should the children espy, 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


235 


but a nice firm deal box, containing a little saw, 
a little plane, a hammer, a gimlet, a chisel, and 
sundry different sizes of nails. Was there ever 
anything so delightful, especially to David, who 
loved nothing so well as running after George 
Bowles, the carpenter, and handling his tools. 
What was the price of them ? 

Just ten shillings and sixpence. They were 
very cheap, the woman of the toy-shop said. 
They had been ordered by an old lady at her 
grandson’s entreaty ; but afterwards a misgiv- 
ing had seized her that the young gentleman 
would cut his fingers, and she would not take 
them. 

‘ Miss Fosbrook,’ whispered David, ‘ may I 
give back the knife ? then I could buy it.’ 

‘ You have bought it and paid for it,’ said 
Christabel. 

‘Somebody else will buy the box,’ said 
David wistfully. 

Miss Fosbrook, within herself, thought this 
unikely, for nobody went to Bonchamp for 
costly shopping ; and she saw that the woman 
would gladly have had the knife back, if she 
could have sold the tool-box, which, even at this 
reduced price, was much too dear for the little 
boys who frequented the shop. 

‘ Come away now, my dear,’ she said de- 
cidedly. ‘ No, another time, thank you.’ 

David was as nearly crying as ever he was, 
as he was forced to follow her out of the shop. 
Those tools were so charming; his fingers 
tingled to be hammering, sawing, boring holes. 


236 


THE STOICESLEY SECRET. 


Had he lost the chance for that poor blunt 
knife? Must he wait a whole fortnight for 
another sixpence, and find the delicious tool- 
chest gone ? 

‘ Dear Davie, I am very sorry,’ said Christa- 
bel, when they were in the street. 

‘ That nasty knife ! ’ cried David. 

‘ It is not the knife, Davie,’ said she ; ‘ but 
that I want to think — I want you to think — why 
these ten shillings must have been sent.’ 

‘Because we lost the money for the pig,’ 
said David. ‘ But Kattern Hill fair is over, 
and I don’t want a pig now; I do want the 
gimlet to make holes — ^ 

‘ Yes, David ; but you know what was saved 
for the pig came from all of you ; you would 
have had no right to spend it on anything else, 
unless they all had consented.’ 

‘ This is my very own,’ said David ; ‘ it was 
sent to me — myself — me.’ 

‘ So it seems now ; but just suppose you 
were to have a letter to say that some one — 
poor Hal, himself, perhaps — or Papa — had sent 
ten shillings to make up the money for the pig, 
and directed it to you because you cared so 
much, would it not be a shame to have spent the 
money upon yourself ? ’ 

‘ Then they should not have sent it without 
saying,’ said David. 

Miss Fosbrook thought the same, when she 
saw how hard the trial was to the little boy ; 
but she hoped she was taking the kindest course, 
as she said, ‘ Now, David, in nine days’ time, ii 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


237 


you are good, you will have had another six- 
pence. I see no chance of the tools being sold ; 
Of if they are, I could send for such a box from 
London. By that time, perhaps, something will 
have happened to show who sent the money, 
and why.’ 

‘ And if it is all for myself, I may have the 
tools ? ’ cried David. 

‘ You shall have them, if you really think it 
is right, when Monday week comes.’ 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Ideas were slow in both entering or dying 
out of David’s mind ; but while there they 
reigned supreme. Carpentry had come in as 
the pig had gone out, and with the more force, 
because a new window was being put into 
mamma’s room ; and George Bowles was there 
with all his delightful tools, letting the little 
boys amuse themselves therewith, till they had 
hardly three sound fingers between them ; and 
Nurse Freeman, when she dressed their wounds, 
could not think what was the use of a lady if she 
could not keep the children from hurting them- 
selves ; but Miss Fosbrook thought that it was 
better that boys should get a few cuts and 
bruises than that they should be timid and un- 
handy. 

One evening, all the party walked to carry 


238 


THE STOKESLEY SECHET. 


to Hannah Higgins’s little girl a pinafore that 
Annie had been making. She was a nice tidy 
woman, but there was little furniture in h«r 
house, and she looked very poor. The garden 
was large, and in pretty ^ood order ; and there 
was an empty pig-sty, into which Annie peeped 
significantly. 

‘ No, Miss Annie, we haven’t no pig,’ said 
Mrs. Higgins. ‘ Ben says, says he, “ Mother, 
when I am taken on for carter boy, see if I 
don’t get you a nice little pig, as will eat the 
garden stuff, and pay the rent.” ’ 

‘ Oh, but—’ began Annie, and there she 
came to a sudden stop. 

‘ Is he likely soon to be a carter boy ? ’ asked 
Miss Fosbrook. 

‘ No, Ma’am ; he is but ten years old, and 
they don’t often take them on under twelve; 
but he is a good boy to his mother, and a ter- 
rible one for leasing.’ 

Miss Fosbrook was obliged to have it ex- 
plained to her that ‘ leasing ’ meant gleaning ; 
and she saw the grand pile of small neat bun- 
dles of wheat put out to dry on the sunny side 
of the house. 

‘ O Davie ! ’ cried Annie, as soon as they 
were outside the gate, ^shan’t we get the pig 
for Hannah ? ’ 

‘ It is my money, not yours ; I shall do what 
1 please with it,’ said David rather crossly. 

Miss Fosbrook pulled Annie back, and de- 
sired her to let David alone ; herself wondering 
what would be the effect of what he had seen. 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


239 


He had been eager to do good to Hannah 
when no desire of his own stood in the way ; 
bijt a formed wish had arisen in Jiis mind, and 
he loved himself better than Hannah. Christa- 
bel dreaded the clearing up of the secret of the 
post-office order, lest he should be proved to 
love himself more than right and justice. 

There were not many letters from the absent 
pair of sisters; they seemed to be much too 
busy and happy to write, and appeared to be 

* seeing everything,’ and to be only just able to 
put down the names of the wonders. The chief 
of all, however, was, that kind Mrs. Penrose had 
actually taken them to Portsmouth for a couple 
of nights, to see the Ramilies, in which she was 
going to remain tifl it sailed. They had sat in 
the admiral’s cabin, and had slept upon ‘ dear 
little sofas,’ where they wished they always 
slept; they had been in papa’s cabin, which 
was half filled up with a great gun that can only 
be fired out at the window (scratched out, and 

* port-hole ’ put in.) 

‘ Oh, how delightful ! I wish I had a big gun 
in my room ! ’ cried Johnnie. 

And they had seen Sam’s chest; and Sam 
did look so nice in his uniform ; and he had 
dined with them every day. They had dined 
late with the grown-up people ; and the admiral 
was so kind, only rather funny. 

Annie wished she were as old as Bessie, as 
much as John wished to have a gun filling up 
his whole bed-room. 

The next day, their papa had taken them 


240 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


into the country to see Lady Seabury, Bessie’s 
godmother, a very old lady indeed, older than 
grandmamma, and who could not move out of 
her chair. ‘ She gave me — ’ wrote Bessie. 
There again something had been scratched out, 
and ‘ a kiss ’ written overhead. 

That something was quite a long word, but 
it had been very completely blotted out ; not 
like the ‘ window,’ w’hich had only a couple of 
cross bars, through which it could be plainly 
read ; but there had plainly been first an at- 
tempt at smearing it out with the finger, and 
that not succeeding, an immense shiny black 
mess, like the black shade of a chafer grub, had 
been put down on it, and had come off on the 
opposite side of the sheet. 

What could the w'ord be ? Annie and 
David were both sure they could read the lines 
through all the blot. The first letter was cer- 
tainly S. 

‘ But,’ said Miss Dosbrook, ‘ do you think it 
is quite honourable to try to read what Bessie 
did not mean us to see ? ’ 

They did not quite enter into this, but they 
left off trying. 

‘ Mamma had been out in the carriage sev- 
eral times ; and they w^re all coming home on 
Saturday week ’ — that was the best news of all 
— ‘ and then we have a secret too for Miss Fos- 
brook.’ 

David said he was tired of secrets and would 
not guess. Annie guessed a great deal; but 
Miss Fosbrook thought more about the word 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


241 


she would not try to read. She began to have 
a strong suspicion from whom the post-office 
order had come, and was the more uneasy 
about the spending of David’s half sovereign ; 
but she durst say nothing, for she knew it could 
do no good if he felt himself compelled against 
his own will ; and she saw that he was full of 
thought. 

One day the lawn had been mown, and the 
children were all very busy wheeling their little 
barrows, and loading them with the short grass. 
David was with them at first, but when Purday 
left off work, he marched after the old man in 
his grave deliberate way, and was seen no more 
till nearly tea-time, when he walked into the 
school-room with a very set look upon his sol- 
emn face, and sat himself down cross-legged on 
the locker, with a sigh that seemed to come out 
of the very depths of his heart. 

‘ What’s the matter, Davie ? ’ 

He made no answer, and Miss Fosbrook let 
him alone; but Annie presently bounced in, 
crying out, ‘ Davie, Davie ! where were you ? 
W e have been hunting for you everywhere ! 
Where did you go ? ’ 

‘ I went with Purday.’ 

‘ What, to milk the cows ?’ 

‘ Yes.’ 

‘ And then ? ’ 

‘ I went with him to Farmer Long’s, to see 
his little Chinese pigs.’ 

‘ And you have bought one 1 O Davie ! ’ 

‘Purday is to ask the farmer about the 
14 


242 THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 

price to-morrow morning, because he wasn’t at 
home.’ 

‘ Then you won’t get the carpenter’s tools ? ’ 
said Annie. 

‘ No,’ said David ; ‘ Purday said tools that 
they make for little boys never will cut.’ 

‘ So you told Purday all about it ? ’ 

David nodded his head. 

‘ Oh, do tell me what Purday said ! ’ con- 
tinued Annie. 

‘ It’s nothing to you,’ said David bluntly. 
But by-and-by, when John came in, and a few 
more questions were asked, David let out that 
Purday had said, ‘ Well, he thought sure enough 
if the money was sent to Master David for that 
intent, he did not ought to spend it no other 
ways ; and whether or not, Hannah Higgins 
was a deserving woman; and Master Davie 
didn’t know what it was like never to have a 
bit of bacon ne’er a Sunday in the winter. He 
couldn’t say but it was hard that those poor 
folks should get nothing but bread and cabbages 
from week’s end to week’s end, just that Master 
Davie might spoil bits of deal board with mak- 
ing chips of them.’ 

And when David was sure he shouldn’t spoil 
his wood, Purday had told him that them toy- 
shop young gentleman’s tools were made to sell, 
and not made to cut. Best save up his money, 
and buy one real man’s tool after another ; and 
then he’d get a set equal to George Bowles’s in 
time ! 

Though so young, David was long-sighted 


THE STOKESLET SECRET. 


243 


and patient enough to see the sense of this, and 
had already made up his mind that he would 
begin with a gimlet. And though he did not 
say so, and the first resolution had cost a very 
tough struggle, his heart seemed to have freed 
itself in that one great sigh, and he was at peace 
with himself. 

Miss Foshrook was very glad he had gone to 
so wise and good an adviser as Purday, and was 
almost as happy as David himself. She gave 
him and John leave to go with Purday the next 
day to bargain for the pig, as David was very 
anxious for one in especial, whose face he said 
was so jolly fat ; and it was grand to see the two 
little boys consequentially walking on either side 
of Purday, who had put on his whitest round 
frock for the great occasion. 

Farmer Long was at home ; he came out and 
did the honours of his ten little pigs ; and when 
he found which was David’s favourite, he de- 
clared that it was the best of the lot, and 
laughed till David blushed, at the young gentle- 
man’s having got such an eye for a pig. ‘ It 
was a regular little Trudgeon,’ said Purday, 
(meaning perhaps a Trojan ;) and it was worth 
at least twelve shillings, but the farmer in his 
good nature declared that little master should 
have it for the ten, as it was for a present. 
Hannah’s boy was working for him, and was a 
right good lad, and he would give him some 
straw for the pig’s bed when he went home at 
night. Then he took the two boys into the par- 
lour, and while Purday had a glass of beer in the 


244 


THE STOKESLEY SECEET. 


kitchen, Mrs. Long gave each of them a big 
slice of plumcake, and wanted very much to 
have given them some wine, but that they knew 
they must not have ; and she inquired after their 
mamma and papa, and made them so much of 
visitors, that David was terribly shy, and very 
glad when it was over, though John liked it, and 
talked fast. 

As to the giving the pig, that was a serious 
business ; and David felt hot and shy, and 
wanted to get it over as soon as possible without 
a fuss. 

So he bolted into Mrs. Higgins’s cottage, put 
his hands behind his back, and spoke thus : — 
‘ Please, Mrs. Higgins, put your pig-sty in order ! 
We’ve all done it — at least they all wanted to — 
and a green order came down in a letter — and 
we've bought the pig, and Ben will drive it 
home when he comes from work ! ' 

And then, as if he had been in a great fright, 
he ran away ; while Johnnie stayed, and, when 
Hannah understood, received so many curtsies, 
and listened to so much pleasure, that he could 
hardly think of anything else, and felt very glad 
that 8ome pence of his had been in Toby Fillpot. 

Annie said it was not fair that she had not 
been at the giving the pig ; and Miss Fosbrook 
was a little disappointed too ; but then it was 
much better that David should not want to make 
a display, so she would not complain, and com- 
forted Annie, by putting her in mind that they 
could go and see the little pig in his new quarters. 

A few days more, and the carriage was 


THE STOKESLEY SECRET. 


245 


driving up to the door with dear mamma in it, 
and — why, there were three little girls, not two ! 
One look, and the colour came into Christahers 
face. It was her youngest little sister, Dora, 
who sat beside Bessie ! Mrs. Merrifield had gone 
to see Mrs. Fosbrook, and ask if she could take 
anything for her to her daughter ; and she had 
been so much shocked at the sight of the little 
pale London faces, that she had begged leave to 
take home one of the children to spend a month 
with her sister at Stokesley, since Miss Fosbrook 
could not be spared to go home at present. 
Was not that a secret for Christabel? How 
those two sisters did hug each other ! 

But the Stokesley secrets have lasted long 
enough ; and there is no time to tell of the happy 
days of Dora’s visit, and the good care that 
Johnnie took of her whenever she went out, and 
of her pretty quiet ways that made Bessie take 
her for her dearest of friends. And still less 
can be told of the smooth peaceful free spirit 
that seemed to have come home with mamma, 
even though she was still able to do little among 
the children, for the very having her in the 
house appeared to keep things from going wrong. 

One thing must be told, however, and that is, 
that when Annie told all the wonderful story of 
the post-office order and the Chinese pig, Bessie 
grew redder and redder in the face, and Susan 
squeezed both her hands tight together, and said, 
‘ May I tell, Bessie 1 ’ 


THE END. 





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